


But I will still tell you one thing

by pleasebekidding



Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: Cancer, Eventual serious medical problems, Flashbacks, HEA, M/M, McDanno family feels, Mostly canon compliant except for all the romance :), Post season 8 canon divergence, Slow burn which is definitely done with by the beginning of the story, That's it that's all you get I refuse to spoil this, With all the tragic associated issues, radiation poisoning
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-19
Updated: 2019-05-04
Packaged: 2019-06-29 10:44:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 20
Words: 81,745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15727800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pleasebekidding/pseuds/pleasebekidding
Summary: “We have a bad day, a bad case, a life crisis, tortured half to death, what have you — and we fall into bed together. And I wake up alone and nothing has changed.”Steve shifts his weight from foot to foot, looking embarrassed, but weirdly hopeful.“And now you haveradiation poisoning, Steve, and there’s gonna beconsequences.” Danny’s head is a mess, his heart is worse. And he’s gesturing again. “And I want us to be together.”--Danny wants to get old with Steve, running a restaurant and watching the kids grow up. Steve wants the same thing, but it feels like the more he gets, the more he'll have to lose. This story will span their final months at Five-Oh, the development of their relationship, the ups and downs of running a restaurant, and Steve's eventual declining health.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first foray into H50! I'd love to give a general shoutout to the amazing writers in the fandom. I stumbled on H50 in June, and now I'm closing on my 3rd rewatch of all 8 seasons. I've read a lot of fic, cried over a lot of gifs, and now it's time. This has been unspooling in my head for a few weeks now and after some practice with the voices, I'm ready.
> 
> This fic is likely to span a long timeframe. I'd love you to come on this journey with me.
> 
> Title is a lyric from "Better Together" by Jack Johnson.

**May 2018**

 

Danny stares out over the water for a good ten minutes, just breathing. It’s actually a little cold. Not Jersey cold, but the breeze is cooler than it should be this time of year and he wishes for a moment that he had a blanket for his shoulders, but maybe that’s just the need for some comfort, right now.

It occurs to him that the only times he’s ever sat out here on his own, he’s been watching Steve in the water. Steve isn’t in the water. He’s back in the house. Danny can almost feel him standing in the living room looking confused and a little bit crestfallen — little bit crestfallen like a puppy that’s been repeatedly kicked and doesn’t know why — and trying to decide whether this is one of those times when Danny needs space or just space from people who aren’t him.

Truth is, Danny’s not even sure himself, right now.

Also he’s opened a book on whether when Steve eventually gives up and comes out to ask him what’s wrong, he’ll be carrying a longboard in one hand, and a bottle of iced tea in the other. Danny bets yes.

A few minutes later, Steve is out, crossing the lawn like he’s approaching a bomb. Two bottles on the little table and he lowers himself carefully into the second chair. Danny’s not above promising it’s not strapped with explosives, but there’s still blood rushing in his ears, and he’s not sure he’d get the words out without making them sound like a distinct threat. Also, since Steve did just survive an epic beatdown by a Russian mercenary, he’s probably sore, even if he wouldn’t admit it, and Danny does — maybe — feel just the smallest bit bad for him.

Thinking about that doesn’t help, though, because it sets off a chain reaction, reminding Danny of all the other reasons why he’s angry as hell.

He closes his eyes. The second he makes eye contact with Steve, this is all over.

“You’re gonna have to level with me, Danny, because I don’t know what the hell I did wrong today. Yesterday, I could have a guess. Today —”

“Stop talking,” Danny says, scrubbing a hand over his face. “I’m pretty sure you actually mean that, don’t you.”

“Danny —”

“Power of medical attorney? Your will, Steve? You’re not dying, I’m not talking about this right now.” He wonders if the lawyer left.

“No, I’m not. That’s why now is the time to sort all of this crap out. I’m fine, Danny, I feel good. I feel fine, except the broken ribs.”

“Don’t talk to me about your broken ribs or I’ll break three more.”

There’s a long silence, and Steve guffaws. “I’m officially rethinking the medical proxy thing.”

Danny takes the beer, and shakes his head, and they’re quiet a little longer, though he can hear the cogs moving in Steve’s stupid fat SEAL brain. Danny can’t stay angry. He’s too tired, too low right now, which is crazy after a night that good, with the restaurant finally starting to come together.

“I thought you wanted to talk about the restaurant,” he says, though that’s not quite true either.

“I did. I just thought — it doesn’t mean anything, Danny, not just yet. Like I said, I’m fine, I’m healthy. But I might not always be, and who else could I trust with this? Mary won’t be able to cope.”

“But you think _I_ will? If you get sick? You think this depressive constitution of mine is suited to making life or death decisions if the day ever comes when you can’t? Because I gotta be straight with you, babe — fuck you. Fuck you and the horse you rode in on.”

“I think there’s no one else I trust to make the right decisions,” Steve answers, quietly, though there’s no heat behind his words.

Danny looks out over the water some more, and finally forces himself to turn his head. Steve is peering at him, with that hurt dog expression, because he was raised by wolves, apparently, and truly has no idea what he’s done. Genuinely, though. _No idea what he’s done_ , and that’s the kicker.

“What do you want, Danny?”

Ugh, now it’s Danny’s turn to crumple. He looks into those big dark eyes — whatever fucking color they are — and feels a lump rise in his throat.

“Screw you, McGarrett,” he says, and he’s halfway back to the house before he even knows he’s stood up.

“No, Danny,” Steve says, arriving at super speed because he’s eight feet tall and leaps tall buildings in a single bound and he’s in the house before Danny even makes it to the front door. “What do you want?” He sounds pissed, now, but he still has that intensity — he wants an answer.

“I want us to retire!” Danny yells back. “I want us to retire, and run a restaurant, and survive to at least seventy-five years old without getting killed or worse, and I wanna watch Charlie grow up and Gracie get married and I want to see your hair go gray, Steve, and I want us to be together. Is it honestly that difficult for you to understand?”

“We’re always gonna be together, Danny, we have a restaurant, remember? You’re my best friend —”

“Don’t give me that!” Danny says, and he hates the pleading in his voice. “You know what I mean! Eight years we’ve been working together, Steve, eight years, and this…” He’s vaguely aware that he is gesturing wildly, hands like alien beings, he can’t even explain what’s happening there. He brings his hands together, and closes his eyes, and tries to get his temper under wraps, at least a little bit. “And we have a bad day, a bad case, a life crisis, tortured half to death, what have you — and we fall into bed together. And I wake up alone and nothing has changed.”

Steve shifts his weight from foot to foot, looking embarrassed, but weirdly hopeful.

“And now you have _radiation poisoning_ , Steve, and there’s gonna be _consequences_.” Danny’s head is a mess, his heart is worse. And he’s gesturing again.

Steve takes a breath, and crosses his arms over his chest, reminding Danny that his arms are like tree trunks, reminding Danny what it’s like to be wrapped in them; but he seems to lose steam, eyes flicking from Danny’s face to the floor. And he still doesn’t fucking get it.

“And I want us to be together.”

It comes out easier than he’d imagined it might, when he’s imagined this. It comes out smooth and true.

Steve has that same yearning on his face that’s getting harder to look at every year. He runs his hand over his too-short hair and stares at the floor for another moment. He wants it too. Danny knows this. They’ve come close enough to saying it before, usually tangled in sweaty bedsheets. But when he opens his mouth, it’s not to suggest a hasty wedding and a filthy honeymoon, more’s the pity.

“I help people, Danny. That’s what I do. I don’t know how to retire.”

It’s not denial, either.

“Then do less. Let the kids go out and take the risks. They’re good at their jobs. Slow the fuck down, Steve, or I’m not going to your funeral.”

“You’d go to my funeral.”

“Not the point. Not the point. I have to go,” Danny says, because he’s already said more than he meant to, and he’s exhausted. He scrubs a hand over his face and pivots on his heel and heads to the front door, but when he pulls it open, Steve slams it shut with the heel of his hand, suddenly disorientingly close, eyes like saucers, still confused and upset. Ridiculously long eyelashes batting away.

“You wanna date, Danny? Is that what you’re saying?”

Yeah, that’s exactly what he’s saying. Except more, everything. He wants to live together. He wants to fight over who’s the big spoon, share the paper over breakfast every morning, maybe let Steve teach him not to hate the water. He wants to fall asleep together on the couch and argue about gluten-free pasta and everything else. He wants Grace and Charlie to play together on the beach, and Steve to teach Charlie how to surf. He wants to get _old_ with Steve.

Or as old as he can.

He wants whatever time Steve has left — whether it’s five years, fifteen, thirty — he wants those years to be with Danny, safe in the restaurant, not getting shot at and beaten up.

He doesn’t say a word of that out loud, just holds Steve’s eyes as forcefully as he can. Some childish magical thinking shit like if he’s angry enough, Steve will suddenly understand. If he doesn’t, this is probably dead in the water. If Steve doesn’t know, eight years into this, that they’re in love, it’s time to accept he’s just not there, despite liver transplants and _I love you_ s and countless near-death experiences where they sought each other out first, as soon as hell was over.

“I want you to take your hand off this door, Steven,” Danny says, and Steve backs off. Danny grits his teeth all the way home.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve remembers.

**May 2018**

 

Steve sits on one of the rickety chairs on the beach for a long time, with Eddie at his feet. The dog whines quietly, perturbed by something he can’t even understand. Steve sips slowly at the iced tea and eyeballs Danny’s beer, but he doesn’t drink it. Danny would probably know. Somehow, Danny would know.

He drinks his iced tea. He looks over the water. And his memories drift to Colombia.

Not the first time. That had been pure hell. Danny’s glazed eyes, the barrel strapped against the wall of the carrier plane they’d taken home to Hawaii, knowing what was inside, knowing he’d probably been too late by the first time he’d laid eyes on Marco Reyes.

No, he thinks about the _second_ trip to Colombia. That had only been maybe 80% hell. The other 20% had been…

Wonderful.

 

 

**March 2015**

 

Steve hadn’t actually intended to go back to the Palace when he’d finished dismantling Alexander’s coke-funded retirement plan; he was exhausted, he needed to sleep for about eighteen hours, but even after hearing the call that would release Danny from prison, he knew he wouldn’t be able to relax until he knew Danny was on a plane. He sat at his desk, going over the minutiae and failing to take anything in, and the phone rang.

He glanced at the time. Six in the morning, just past.

“McGarrett,” he said, rubbing his eyes.

“Commander Steven McGarrett?” 

“That’s me. Who’s this?”

All of the hair was standing up on the back of his neck.

“My name is Hugo Guttierez. My men and I are to arrange for the transfer of Detective Daniel Williams back to Honolulu.” His accented English was very good, but stilted.

“Alright, thank you. Is he on the plane yet?” Probably optimistic, but Alexander had good reason to work quickly. Especially with Joe sitting with that knowing smile on his face, and his H&K in his hand.

The voice on the other end of the phone was silent, for too long. “He is not able to fly, Commander McGarrett.”

That son of a bitch. “Sure he is.”

“I’m afraid he is unconscious. I’m being told he fell unconscious just moments before I arrived at the prison infirmary. But judging by the beating he’s received… I think it’s maybe been a little longer than that.”

Steve had tasted bile. Cortisone. Something worse — his own blood, he realized. He’d bitten the inside of his own cheek. His head had started to thump.

“Okay, okay,” he said. “Hold this call, I’ll be back with you in asecond. Do you understand me? Do not end this call.”

The man — Guttierez — grunted. He didn’t sound resentful. Steve wished he did. In honesty, the man sounded like he was sick with what he was seeing, and that… that was about a hundred times worse.

Steve pulled up the contacts on his computer, muttering under his breath, telling himself to move faster. When he found what he was looking for, he punched the numbers into the telephone at his elbow, swearing under his breath as the phone rang. He did a rapid calculation in his head; it was noon in Colombia.

“Leon,” he said, when a familiar voice grunted hello. “It’s McGarrett.”

“McGarrett. You don’t call, you don’t write.” Leon’s dry voice hadn’t changed, and Steve wished he had time to talk, catch up. He did not.

“Yeah, yeah,” he said. “Listen, I need a favor.”

“I’m in shock.”

“You do this for me, and our slate is clear.”

Leon had been silent so long Steve started to think they’d been cut off. “That’s a hell of a slate, McGarrett. This seems like a good time to mention a little thing called plausible deniability.”

“It’s not illegal. But it’s urgent. Five minutes from now urgent. You got a pen?”

 

 

The first leg of the journey had been the easy one, because Steve had slept like a dog. Exhaustion, and his Navy training in shutting up and going to sleep whenever he had a chance conspired to let him close his eyes and keep them closed all the way to San Diego. He slept restlessly and dreamed uncomfortable dreams, but he slept. He woke as they began the descent, thinking about Afghanistan, remembering waking up with Danny’s worried eyes on him, Danny’s refusal to leave him alone when ordered to, Danny’s stalwart support and bad attitude. The way Steve hadn’t been able to tear his eyes away from Danny. The realization of what had happened. That he’d been saved from a beheading by a matter of seconds by this man.

And that Danny had come all that way. For him. The second he realized his unrequited… _thing_ might not be unrequited at all.

The way Danny had led him into a bathroom to wash the blood from his face, and they’d found themselves holding each other, and that one, perfect, lazy, passionate, tender, rough kiss. A kiss full of contradictions. A kiss that insisted on life.

Sometimes, Steve wasn’t even sure it had really happened. Other times, he remembered every second as if he’d watched it on videotape, irrefutable evidence, a hundred times.

He changed planes in San Diego, and the second flight was considerably harder to get through.

 

 

Almost twenty-four hours after calling in his favor, Steve was collected from the airport by a driver from the American Embassy in Bogota. He looked absurdly young, but he might have just been small. He spoke in stilted, accented English, with all the enthusiasm of someone who wants to impress, and knows it’s not the time.

They were led through the back entrance to the embassy, Steve’s credentials being thoroughly checked, and finally, he was brought into a private foyer, where Leon was standing with a bushel of papers and the same unflappable air Steve remembered from almost twelve years ago. He was tall, almost as tall as Steve, and still had a lot of the muscle of his earlier years, though his pale skin was deeply tanned and a little leathery looking, after years in Central America. Prematurely gray, now, and far better dressed (Danny would have approved of that suit), but Steve didn’t think a guy like this would ever change much. Head of security for the Embassy, and good friends with the Ambassador herself. He’d been MI5, a long time back.

Leon was also an intensely practical man, which was why they got along. He didn’t waste time with pleasantries, just set aside the papers, put his hand on Steve’s upper back and led him quickly to a bank of elevators.

“He’s been awake a few hours. Our doctor is with him.”

Steve breathed out, suddenly dizzy, and nodded his thanks, since he couldn’t speak, as they entered the elevator and made their way into the bowels of the building.

“There’s some internal bleeding, apparently, but not as bad as first thought. A few broken bones. I have to tell you, Steve, whatever that task force of yours has been up to on O’ahu… there are a number of Bogota’s finest… and an even greater number of Bogota’s absolute _worst_ , who would like to round you and your friend up and take turns killing you _slowly_.”

“I’m deeply saddened,” Steve deadpanned.

“I can see it’s tearing you up inside. I mention it because you can’t stay here for long.”

“Fine by me. I need to get Danny back to his daughter.”

Leon said nothing. “I have a contact who can keep you hidden in a safe house in Mexico City for a few days.”

“Thanks, Leon, but like I said, I need to get him home to his kid. I made her a promise.”

“He may prefer to wait.” Leon strode down a short corridor and knocked on a door, before pushing it open.

Steve could have fallen over in shock and horror, at that moment. Danny’s face was almost unrecognizable, it was so swollen. He opened one eye, and blinked, and reached out a hand to Steve — a hand that was bound in white bandages, and what Steve recognized immediately as a splint for broken fingers. His lip was split, his eyebrow had more stitches in it than Steve was prepared to count, and the way he flinched when he reached out, Steve knew everything had to be hurting.

“Danny,” he breathed, approaching the gurney, and reaching to cradle that broken hand in his own.

Danny looked like he’d tried to smile, but he flinched, and Steve shushed him, though he hadn’t said a word.

He _hadn’t said a word_. Steve would have paid a million dollars for Danny to shout at him for an hour about his driving, he missed that voice so bad.

He peeled back the light blanket, to look at Danny’s body, and immediately wished he hadn’t. There were not parts of his body that weren’t bruised, and the unmistakeable shape of a boot print was stamped on his ribcage.

Danny tried to speak. Only one syllable, and impossible to hear, but Steve knew, anyway.

“I’ll call her. I’ll tell her you’re okay, Danny. I’ll tell her you can’t come to the phone because you’re sleeping, I’ll tell her you got hurt. But not how bad, I promise. You and me, we’re gonna chill here, do a couple of crossword puzzles… then for the hell of it, a quick vacation in Mexico City for a few days, and then I’ll take you home.” _And never let you out of my sight again_ , he thought, but didn’t say.

Danny visibly relaxed. The eye that was swollen shut looked greasy, and painful. The other ran tears. Maybe he was crying, maybe it was because of the redness in the sclera of his eye, it didn’t matter. Steve brushed his thumb over the damp line, gentle as he could, lost in the moment. Until behind him, the doctor cleared his throat, and Steve turned around, surprised to find four people standing awkwardly in the face of such a private moment. Leon, and the doctor, and a young woman who was presumably a nurse (she reminded Steve of Catherine, both in face and bearing), and someone Steve assumed was an assistant of some kind. He might even have been with them in the elevator, but Steve’s head was a mess. He had neat black hair and the steel-eyed determination of someone who was planning to end up an ambassador himself, one day.

“A word, Commander McGarrett,” the doctor said. He looked too young to be a real doctor, though his voice suggested he was older than he looked, or at least that he’d seen more than Steve could assume. Steve briefly considered a background check, regardless. He brushed his thumb over the inside of Danny’s wrist, and followed everyone into the corridor, while the nurse fussed over Danny.

“He’ll be able to travel in a couple of days,” the doctor said. Steve glanced at Leon, and Leon nodded to the assistant, who left, presumably to make arrangements. “We’re feeding him through a tube, for now, and a fluid IV, though that doesn’t stop him feeling thirsty, so help yourself to ice chips, and run them over his lips, from time to time. There’s a machine on the front of the fridge back there.”

Steve shifted his weight from foot to foot, for a moment; that sounded terrifyingly intimate. More intimate than the kiss in the bathroom in Afghanistan. But he nodded, somberly. Couldn’t be hard to spot a fridge.

“We’ll continue to dispense pain medication and anti-inflammatories via the IV. Once he can eat, and drink, and take meds orally, he’ll be ready to move.”

“Okay. Thank you,” Steve said, still numb. “Doctor…”

“O’Connell,” the doctor said, with a sharp nod of his head. “We’ll be in regularly to check on him.”

“I’ll get someone to bring you something to eat, Steve,” Leon said.

“I’m alright. Thank you.”

“Yes, you look the picture of health. I’ll make arrangements.”

The nurse and the doctor both headed down the corridor and disappeared into, Steve assumed, an office of some kind, and Steve turned on his heel, determined to get back to Danny. Leon caught him by the bicep.

“I have friends in high places, Steve,” he said drily. “And very, very low places. And when I say friends, I’m sure you know I mean a good mix of friends and enemies worth keeping close. I heard what you did. Your little bonfire. You have to know there will be ramifications.”

Steve held his eyes, steely. “You know me well enough to know I don’t do anything without taking out a whole lot of insurance first.”

“Yes. Well.” Leon’s prim, educated English accent was fading, slightly. “The thing about insurance is that it doesn’t do much to comfort the people who collect it, once you’re dead. I’ll see about that meal,” he added, and he was gone.

By the time Steve returned to the room, Danny was asleep again. Steve pulled a chair up close to his bed, closed a hand gently around his wrist — one of the only places unmarred by red and black bruises — and settled in to wait.

 

 

He called Grace, a little after ten in the morning, Hawaii time.

“Uncle Steve?”

She sounded so unsure.

“Well, which other uncle would it be? Didn’t I tell you I was gonna be the one to rescue Danno? I needed to get even with him, so he stops reminding me of all the times he’s rescued me.” Trying to keep it light. She’d gotten too smart, now, too grown up, too much a young woman to be buoyed along. Twelve years old, how the fuck had that happened.

“Did you find him?”

“Uncle Steve’s 100% guarantee,” Steve said. “Gracie, I gotta tell you, he’s not feeling too good. He got a little bit hurt, but he’s gonna be okay. I’m gonna stay with him for a little while, and in a couple of days I’m gonna put him on the phone so you can hear for yourself, okay? And then in a week or so I’m gonna hand-deliver him, wrapped up with a bow.”

He heard a giggle swallowed by a girl who was pretty sure she was too old to giggle.

“Is he really okay?” she asked, quietly.

“I’ve never lied to you, Gracie, and I never will, you have my promise on that. He’s okay, and you can talk to him as soon as he’s feeling a little bit better.”

Steve glanced at Danny, his chest slowly rising and falling. Not something Steve thought he’d ever take for granted again.

“Okay. Thank you, uncle Steve. Tell Danno I love him, okay?”

“He loves you, too, Grace Face. And so do I. Now put your mom on, is she there?”

Steve was more blunt with Rachel than he had been with Grace. She needed to understand why Danny wasn’t already on a plane home, why he needed to do some healing before he could face his little girl. Rachel was stoic, but distressed, and unless she had a bad cold coming on she was crying, softly.

“Thank you, Commander McGarrett. For going to get him.”

“Nah, it’s nothing he hasn’t done for me. And how many times do I have to tell you to call me Steve?”

“I suppose right now I find it very comforting to remind myself of your particular skill set. And thank you again.” She sounded formal. Trying to keep herself together. “We’ll expect to hear from you in two days.”

Steve felt Danny’s arm shift slightly beneath his hand, as he ended the call. He opened his mouth, but Steve waved it off. “Don’t. Please.” He gave a quarter of a smile. “I was right in the middle of thinking how much easier my life is when you’re not yapping in my ear. Don’t ruin my moment.”

Danny’s one eye sparkled, and there was no mistaking the slight curl of his lip, nor the aborted attempt to flip Steve the bird.

“I’ll get you some ice chips,” Steve said, quietly.

He had been right, in his first estimate. Rubbing the ice gently, carefully, over Danny’s ruined mouth, watching the drops slip between his lips, feeling those lips shift beneath Steve’s fingertips — it was more intimate that that one perfect kiss in Afghanistan could have ever been.

It was a pity, Steve thought, that he had absolutely no idea what to do with that information.

 

 

They were flown by private jet to Mexico City, once Danny had proven he could swallow fine on his own, could speak, _had_ spoken vociferously on the subject of his naso-gastric tube, and reluctantly allowed Steve to help him dress in his own clothes. Steve had packed nothing but soft, old, worn things, having made the assumption that Danny would be sore; and he could see the relief in Danny’s eyes when the faded sweats clung to his hips instead of tightening around his stomach, which was still a little distended and heavily bruised.

He slept for most of the five-hour flight, but did make a decent stab at eating around halfway in, his lips and mouth still sore. How his jaw wasn’t broken, Steve had no idea. A few ribs, three fingers, and hairline fractures to his scapula and collarbone, that was all. Miraculous.

They were driven discreetly to the safe house, and there, finally alone (but with a number to call for an American doctor the following day) they set about relaxing.

It was nothing fancy, though the concealed security system wasn’t something to sneeze at. It was habitable. In a bad place for anyone who thought an ambush was a good idea. Decorated by someone who knew how to shop for bargains.

After they were settled, Danny had called Grace. Steve had tried to give them their privacy, but he was being so obvious about it that Danny switched to speaker so Steve could listen to her chatter excitedly about something that had happened at school, something Charlie had done which had made them all laugh, just noise, joyful, beautiful noise coming from a little girl who only a week ago had watched her father the superhero be arrested for murder in front of her entire class.

They watched ridiculous telenovelas on a battered television set, and Steve slipped out into the busy streets a few times a day to buy their meals, and plenty of bottled water. He had to be careful about it. Steve could jump out of a plane, fly a helicopter, leap from rooftop to rooftop and disable a submarine but he couldn’t take hot spices worth a damn, which Danny found hilarious.

The first night, Danny slept like the dead.

The second night, he was restless, in pain, suffering nightmares, kept crying out and waking himself up. Steve sat on the edge of his ugly, serviceable bed, and debated with himself what he should do. In the end, he couldn’t listen to Danny toss and turn, held by nightmares or any other thing. Not after everything they’d been through together. He ignored the fact that Danny’s dignity was one of his most prized possessions, and moved to help.

He nudged open the door to Danny’s room, and pushed it closed from the other side. It was warm in the room, a little sultry, and Danny had kicked off the sheets. Steve was glad he couldn’t see the bruises, in the low light that only crept in the edges of the window. Outside, Mexico City was far from asleep, and for a mad minute Steve thought about waking Danny up and taking him out for a couple of dozen cervezas, getting him thoroughly drunk and letting him sleep for a good twelve hours that way. Not a good idea with the meds, but hey, call it augmenting their effectiveness.

He put a hand on Danny’s shoulder, and Danny woke.

“Sorry,” he said, still half asleep. “Sorry. I can’t sleep right. I keep remembering…”

Steve sat on the edge of the bed. “Remembering what, Danny.”

“I thought I was gonna die. I thought I. And Grace. They said.” He sat up and scrabbled for the water bottle on the rickety table next to the bed.

“Who said what, Danny?” Steve asked, handing the water over. Danny said nothing, just drank half the bottle in one long, gulping swallow.

“The guards. Let me get attacked, and they rescued me. They said the first time was free.”

Steve hadn’t thought he’d ever get this sort of information from Danny, never.

“They said the first time was free, and the only way I was going to survive was by paying them. They said… oh, god. They said the prisoners would pass me around the first night I spent in that cell and before they were done I’d be begging them to kill me. They said…”

Steve felt bile rise to his throat, but Danny was on a roll, needed to get it out.

“Did anyone…”

“No. No,” Danny said, shaking his head until his stiff neck complained, and pressed his palm against his aching collarbone. “I said I could get them money.”

“You never called. Or I didn’t get the —”

“I called Grace. I thought I was gonna die and I needed to hear her voice one more time. I thought I was gonna die. I think I wanted to. The guilt… oh, god. You forget, Steve, I did exactly what they accused me of. I murdered Marco Reyes. In cold blood.”

“That wasn’t cold blood, Danny. And I’ll never believe you didn’t do the right thing. And this was never about that, never. I’ll tell you the rest when you’re feeling better, but it was never about Reyes.”

Danny nodded, but Steve could see he was only trying to placate him. “Yeah. Yeah, you’re right.”

“And I can’t even get that in writing, because you’re stuffed to the gills with pain killers and it would never stand up in court.”

Danny gave a weak smile. “And I’ll deny it later. I’m okay, Steve. Go to bed.” He rolled away, facing the wall, and Steve sat for another long moment. He sipped the water from the bottle, and put it down again.

“That’s your bottle, now, pal, I don’t need your cooties, I got enough problems.”

Steve snorted, and swung around until his chest was pressed to Danny’s back. Danny stiffened, and tried to look over his shoulder, but Steve nestled in, one arm draped carefully over Danny’s body, trying to avoid the worst of the bruises.

“Just go to sleep, buddy. I’d rather do this than let you listen to some late night Mexican shopping channel. I don’t trust you not to buy something with cubic zirconias.”

After a moment, Danny relaxed again. Steve pressed his forehead between Danny’s shoulder blades and resisted the urge to kiss the warm skin there.

“Cubic zirconias are diamonds for people who aren’t idiotic enough to spend a year’s salary on an engagement ring,” Danny said, sleepily, a few minutes later.

“You’d know that, being from Jersey and all. Go to sleep, Danny.”

“Says the man with the amazing vanishing wallet.”

Steve grinned, and kissed Danny’s shoulder.

Fuck, he missed the ocean.

“Steve?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks.”

For the shoulder kiss? That seemed unlikely. “For what?”

“Everything. Shut the fuck up and go to sleep.”

 

 

On the fourth night, Danny hadn’t batted an eyelid when Steve crawled into bed beside him. They were both on the very edge of sleep, when Danny abruptly rolled over, so they were face to face, a pair of brackets. It never got very dark in the room, and Steve’s eyes adjusted quickly.

Danny’s face was still every color of the rainbow, but it was his face again. Not swollen and sore, both eyes open and glistening and locked on Steve’s; healing, a little at a time. Steve reached out, and spread his hand over Danny’s jaw, touching his face, his neck. But it was Danny who’d moved in. Steve met him halfway, their lips meeting in the middle, barely brushing together until Danny nudged Steve’s mouth open, and licked into it.

Steve tried to pull him closer automatically, but Danny grunted in pain, and Steve moved his hand. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m sorry. I just…”

“It’s okay, babe.”

“I want to touch you,” Steve said, as Danny rolled onto his back, trying to get comfortable. “I’ll be gentle. Danny, Danny…”

Danny reached out with his clumsy, broken hand and Steve gingerly pushed himself up onto one elbow, lips finding Danny’s jaw, trailing to his throat, down to the collarbone that was still whole, and barely tinged in green. He didn’t think he’d ever been so careful with someone in his entire life, using his mouth, and the pads of the fingers of one hand. He didn’t think about the consequences of crossing this line. He just _wanted_ ; the tangible proof that Danny was there, alive, under his fingers, under his tongue, sucking in a hiss as Steve’s tongue hardened one nipple, and his hand smoothed over the thick pelt on his chest. It was as soft as it looked.

“Danny,” he murmured again.

“Steve,” Danny replied, turning to kiss him again. He sounded almost regretful, and it set off a chain reaction of panic across Steve’s entire physiology, all the way to the erection he was doing his best to ignore.

“Kiss me again,” Danny said, and Steve obliged him happily, storing up the memory of every molecule he could taste, to remember later. Steve liked rough sex, he always had. This was so new, being careful. But it felt clean, perfect, despite the run-down house, despite the bruises and scrapes all over Danny’s beautiful body.

“I need to sleep,” Danny admitted. He’d been sleeping twelve, fourteen hours a day. Steve understood.

“I know,” Steve replied, refusing to let his voice register any disappointment. “Sleep, Danny.”

 

 

On the fifth night, they went to bed early, and there was no pretense. They touched carefully, they kissed well, they found a rhythm that worked, and when Steve slid down between Danny’s legs and took him into his mouth, Danny’s response was so powerful and so visceral that Steve might have come untouched. He tapped Steve’s shoulder in warning, but Steve just smiled, angling his head to catch all of Danny in his mouth, swallow him down, and then carefully cleaning every trace of come from Danny’s slowly softening cock.

“I’d return the favor, babe, but I’ve got broken fingers and a split lip.” He sounded regretful. Steve grinned, kissing his stomach gently.

“It wasn’t a favor,” he promised. He hesitated, and then leaned in again, kissing the ropy muscle at Danny’s hip, scraping stubble carefully over the skin. “Was it…”

“It was perfect,” Danny said. “What are you talking about, come here, you goof.” They kissed lazily for a few minutes, and drifted off to sleep.

 

 

He couldn’t have said later why he’d done it, but when Steve woke, as dawn began to warm the room, he slipped out from between the sheets, returned to his own room to dress for a run…

And he ran.

He left Danny alone, and he ran. Almost two hours, in the sleepy streets, no one around but people sleeping rough, produce traders, and a few people staggering home from bars. He didn’t think he’d remember the streets as well as he did, after so many years, but he remembered every turn, every hit, every blind corner. His body almost ached with the flood of endorphins, and by the time he got back to the safe house with its ugly decor and carefully concealed security, he was aching in all the best ways.

He leaned on Danny’s door jamb, and gave him a beatific smile, ignoring the hand that reached hesitantly for him.

“How are you feeling?” he asked, same way as he would have if they’d been at the Palace doing an all-nighter and he’d found Danny asleep on his couch.

Danny’s smile faltered. “Pretty good,” he said.

“I got breakfast burritos. I’ll grab the first shower. We have to be at the airport by noon.”

Danny’s expression shuttered, but Steve shot him another bright grin, hoping it didn’t crack his face wide open, and inside, he smacked himself hard. He was an idiot. He was so many different kinds of idiot. He deserved to be beaten up to Colombian prison guards.

Danny’s expression softened with disappointment. “Yeah. Thanks,” he said. “Go shower, you stink.”

 

 

And _then_?

Steve hates himself, when he thinks of this. He eyes the longboard at his side. Fuck, he would like a beer. He would love a fucking beer. He’d like a bottle of Scotch.

 

 

Outside Rachel’s house, Steve had idled the car. Danny had looked reluctant, briefly. Steve had listened to him worry about what Grace would say when she saw him, all the way from Mexico City to San Diego to Honolulu. But they’d done the best they could, stopped at Danny’s place for clothing that would mostly cover his bruises, and Danny’s need to see his little girl had become a physical pain days before.

“Steve,” he said.

“Not now,” Steve said. “Go on, Gracie needs her Danno.”

The look Danny had given him had shaken Steve to the core. Too much. Too much. He couldn’t have _anything_ this important, it was just _not okay_ , because he would fuck it up, he’d fuck it up and then the single best thing in his life would be gone. His cornerstone.

“Go on. Call if you need anything. I’ll make an appointment for you, get you back in the office as soon as possible. I know you’re itching to see me blow something up.”

Danny had stepped out of the car.

And they’d never spoken about those days in Mexico City again, not once.

 

 

Steve reaches for the beer bottle, and pours it out into the grass, chastising Eddie when he makes a half-hearted attempt to lick it up. The sun has gone down, and Steve has some thinking to do.

 

 

The house feels too big. House has felt too big for a long time, but since Junior left, since he found a place he likes and hell, Steve can’t blame him, he’s a young man, probably needs a little space. But it feels too big. Steve always figured there’d be kids, one day. Not happening now. He’s got Gracie and Charlie and Joan, that’s enough.

It’s a big house full of ghosts. Fewer than there were eight years ago; clearing out a bedroom for Junior had been more cathartic than he’d thought it would be, and now that’s a guest room again, could look nice with a racing car bed, right?

Steve dismisses the thought out of hand, because he’s not sure he can ever really do this. Not because he doesn’t want to; truth is he’s known he is in love with Danny Williams for a good long time, now, but there’s never been a moment where it seemed that might work. And now there’s this time bomb in his body. Steve dreams about tumors growing unchecked and unseen, about black blood as thick as beluga caviar. He feels good, mostly, most days, now he’s done with the medication, thyroid glands full of healthy iodine instead of the glow-in-the-dark stuff, but still there’s that thought, that even now, cells might be dividing in his body in a way that will one day mean he’s dying.

Well, everyone dies, and he could get shot tomorrow. The chances have been pretty good, his whole career, that he could get shot tomorrow.

The thought of being with Danny… living with Danny… sleeping and working and laughing with Danny… that, he can handle, that, he loves, that, he dreams about. Danny watching him get sick and die?

That’s a different story, completely. Steve may be a little codependent these days, but he’s self-reliant, too. There’s a big difference between struggling to get through a day without arguing with Danny, and having him hold a bucket while Steve pukes his way through chemo.

Dawn and dusk are when this house looks at its best.

There’s a lot that could be done with the place to make it feel less like the John McGarrett Mausoleum, and more like a home, and it’s a strange shift in thinking for Steve to realize it’s what he wants. New paint on the walls, new furniture. His father’s den could be a home office for him and Danny, since the office in the restaurant is the size of a broom closet.

So much to gain.

How does a person get through a week not getting shot at, when other people are getting shot at? It’s a good question. Steve wishes it wasn’t an issue. He could say it. _I’m forty-one years old. I gave fifteen years to the Navy, and eight to law enforcement, and I’m done being shot at_. But the thought makes him break out in a cold sweat. If someone who doesn’t know their job as well as Steve does gets themselves killed because he’s not there…

There are not a lot of people in Steve’s life who he could talk to about this. Joe wouldn’t understand, he doesn’t think. Steve’s father is eight years dead and in the ground. Kono and Chin are off fighting the good fight, and Steve’s mother’s entire life has been dedicated to her work, at the expense of literally everything else. Mary would have told him to quit the Navy before he even signed up. The only person he can really talk to is the one person with a vested interest in the outcome, and that’s not fair on Danny.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grace is wise. Steve is honest.

**May 2018**

 

It’s early Saturday morning, and Steve has been painstakingly installing racks for glasses over the bar and hooks for utensils in the kitchen for a good three hours, alone, with (shut up) Bruce Springsteen playing on his phone, through a scratchy set of bluetooth speakers. When _The River_ is interrupted by the less than dulcet tones of Beyoncé, he grins, and accepts the call. Steve has no idea when Grace changed her ringtone on his phone, but he feels a gentle thrill whenever he hears that godawful song.

“Hey, Gracie,” he says. She’s probably getting too old for the nickname, but Steve will never, never stop using it. “You know your dad’s not here, right? He’s not back until tomorrow night. He’s spending the weekend with the Williams family circus. He was testifying at a parole hearing this week.”

“I know,” Grace says, with the world-weariness of a sixteen-year-old who knows everything. “I called to talk to you.”

“Ah, Chemistry homework?” Steve loves helping Grace with the subjects Danny never got the hang of. It makes him feel like he has a place.

“No. I have a favor to ask.”

“Anything, Gracie, you name it. What, are you okay? Are you in trouble? Is Charlie okay?”

“You’re starting to sound like Danno.”

Well, Steve has never had much to lose, before. He’s starting to understand Danny in a way he didn’t, in the early days.

“Pineapple does not belong on pizza!” he splutters, loudly, forcing a guttural tone. “Grace can date when she’s forty! You bought a cheap ladder! Slow down, you neanderthal maniac! Ties make you look professional! Sand gets into places it shouldn’t! I hope this rock sinks with everyone but Grace and Charlie on it!”

Okay, so Gracie is a hardened sixteen-year-old, sure, but her uncle Steve can still get a giggle out of her. Pity she can’t see him waving one hand around.

“Now I’m officially scared,” she says. “Never do that again. Are you busy this afternoon?”

Steve looks at his list of jobs to do. There are about sixty things on it. “When am I ever too busy for you? You got something in mind?”

“Some new friends want me to go stand-up paddle boarding with them tomorrow, and I don’t know how,” she says. “If it’s okay…”

Steve grins, already taking off his safety glasses. “Get your mom to drop you at the house at one. I’ll have you ready for the world championships before the sun goes down. Did you check with her already?”

Grace breathes a sigh of relief. “Yeah. Thanks, uncle Steve, I’ll see you at one. I’ll bring malasadas. Do you have a paddle board I can borrow?”

“Of course I do. See you soon.”

Malasadas. Such a waste of carbs. Eight years ago, Steve wouldn’t have touched them. Now, he grins, as he checks the locks on the doors and windows (because that’s what you’re supposed to do, if you are the keeper of the keys, which he is this weekend, thank you very much Danno).

He buys his Gracie a paddle board on the way home, grinning like an idiot as he tells Manu about the upcoming lesson. “You know, she’s good at everything she puts her mind to,” Steve says, finally going with the blue, because Grace isn’t ten anymore, unfortunately. “You wait until you see what she does with her life.”

“You just keep her away from guns and badges,” Manu says, taking Steve’s credit card. “Being a parent is the best thing in the world. Have a good lesson, Steve.”

It’s not until Steve is home, carrying the board out onto the lanai, that he realizes that he never corrected Manu’s slip. It’s an hour later, when Grace comes in the door with a smile on her face that reminds Steve of a moment eight years ago that he realizes it’s because he’s been thinking of Gracie and Charlie as his own for as long as he can remember. She throws her skinny arms around his waist, and he hugs back. She might be growing up, but she’s never stopped being affectionate towards him, and the thought that she might leave for the mainland for college in a couple of years makes Steve’s teeth ache.

He’s already dressed for the occasion in board shorts and a tank. “You eaten?” he asks.

“Yeah. I know you’re not supposed to swim for half an hour so I ate early. Because I know I’m gonna end up mostly in the water,” she says, with a hint of preparatory disappointment in her voice.

“Naw, Gracie, you’re part dolphin. You’ll barely need lessons. This will be fun.” He leads her out to the lanai, and her eyes light up when she sees the pale blue board.

“You just had this lying around in the garage?” she deadpans, when her fingers run over the obviously brand-new finish.

“What your Danno doesn’t know won’t hurt him,” Steve replies, grinning, and grabbing a couple of beach towels. His own board is down by the water already.

 

 

True to form, Grace picks up the skill in no time at all. The only tricky thing is keeping her hands in the right place on the paddle so she doesn’t bump it on the board when she changes sides, because each time she does that, she manages to fall. She always comes up laughing, though, and Steve can’t help but wonder what his life would be like without this light in it.

“Maybe next weekend, we could go kayaking,” Steve says, keeping pace with her on the gentle waves. “Go out to one of the small islands.” She’s too old and too cool for that, obviously, but her face lights up just the same.

“I guess,” she drawls, rolling her eyes, but he can tell she wants to. “Unless I end up having plans with my friends.”

Sixteen. Steve had already been banished to Maryland, and was trying to find his way with a new bunch of kids he struggled to connect with. Maybe if he’d stayed in Honolulu, things would have ended up differently.

And he would never have met Danny, and Grace, and then Charlie. So maybe things would be better, and maybe his life would have finished up as empty as it was when he’d arrived in Hawaii eight years ago, with a chip on his shoulder and a stick up his ass.

“Well, you let me know. If it’ll sweeten the deal, I’ll catch us a fish and cook it up on the beach.”

“My arms are getting tired. And I’m hungry again.”

“Time to head in,” Steve agrees. “What time’s your mom picking you up?”

“I said I’d call. I thought maybe we could get a pizza.”

Steve’s heart swells.

When they’re on shore again, he jogs up to the table to grab his phone. They pose on the beach with their boards, Maunalua Bay breathtaking behind them and the sky almost as blue as Danny’s eyes, while Steve, with his ‘freakishly long arms’ takes a two-person selfie.

“Your Danno will get a kick out of this,” he says, sending the picture without a caption.

 

 

They’re showered, and clean, and waiting for pizza, sitting on the couch drinking iced tea and watching what is apparently the most important TV show about teenagers that’s been made in, _like_ , the last _two years_. Which is fucking terrible, but made bearable by the fact that Grace is as easy to rile up as her father is, but considerably more self-aware; every spark of indignation followed up by a shower of giggles.

The pizza arrives, and they open the boxes across the coffee table. Grace, sensible, intelligent girl that she is, actually likes Hawaiian pizza, but they have a second pie, ’nothing but dough, mozz and sauce’ (and a little pepperoni), as well. And lemonade. Steve had sort of forgotten how much he likes the stuff. Can’t have a lot, too much sugar makes him jittery, but he likes it.

“You can have a beer,” Grace says. “I don’t mind. I won’t try to snake one.”

“Naw,” Steve replies, with a shrug, reaching until his arm rests across Gracie’s shoulders. “I have a little bit, from time to time. But only a little bit. Since the transplant.”

Grace glances at him, and back at the screen.

“Will it hurt the liver? Danno still drinks beer.”

“It’s not that. I mean, alcohol is bad for your liver, but it’s okay to have a little. But I have these medications I have to take, so my body never works out the liver isn’t quite mine, and alcohol stops them from working.”

“You mean ‘anti-rejection drugs’? Just say what you need to say and I’ll ask you if I need clarification. I’m not a little kid anymore.”

“And it’s a damn shame,” Steve says, giving her temple a greasy kiss. “Yeah, the anti-rejection drugs. Alcohol stops them working as well as they do, and you know, I might not always be the best at taking care of myself, but I’m attached to this liver.” He pats his scar gently, and reaches for another piece — no, Danny hates that. Another _slice_ — of pizza.

“Because it was a gift,” Grace says.

It’s a perfectly innocuous thing to say. But Grace has been wise beyond her years for all of the time that Steve has known her, and there’s an edge to her tone.

“It was the best gift anyone ever gave me. Except the family tree you drew when you were nine. Plus the gift of the face step-Stan made when you included me in it,” he adds, slyly. “Wait, why’s this guy punching that guy? I musta missed something.” He’s frowning at the screen.

Grace used to be so easy to deflect.

She tosses her crust (Danny would whine, but Steve can spoil her) and reaches for the remote, hitting pause, before she spins around to sit cross-legged on the couch, facing Steve. He feels suddenly nervous, hot under the collar. If he was wearing a collar. Which he’s not; it’s a t-shirt, one of his favorites, a baseball shirt with a neckline and sleeves the color of Danny’s eyes.

“Steve,” Grace says, dropping her hands into her lap. Oh, no. She only leaves off the ‘uncle’ when it’s serious. He’d like another shot at deflecting, but he and Grace have a contract. Since Colombia. They don’t lie to each other. He treats her the way he wanted to be treated at this age.

Steve puts his slice down on the box and turns towards her. “Gracie.”

“Are you and Danno in love?”

There are so many different ways she could have phrased that, and most of them would have been easier to reply to. She could have asked if they were involved, and he could have said no easily. But this?

This?

This, though. This. _Fuck_.

Steve takes a breath.

“Have you asked Danno?”

Grace won’t be put off. And she’s too fucking smart for her own good.

“I thought about it,” she says, shifting a pillow behind her back like she’s planning to get comfortable for a good long while. “I was going to ask him. And then I started wondering what he would say, because he’s Danno, and I know him. Better than anyone, except probably you.”

Steve can’t argue the point. “And what did you think he’d say?”

Grace makes a face — it’s a distinctly Danno-face, even though Danny insists he doesn’t have faces, only Steve does. “‘ _It’s very very complicated, Grace, and there’s a lot of different ways that adults can love each other. But you need to know that your uncle Steve will always love you, and Charlie, and nothing will ever change that’._ ” She follows up with one of her own faces, a distinctly exasperated one, complete with an eye-roll, and it’s a relief, because Steve’s heart is in the middle of breaking, and he needs the second of levity.

He reaches for Grace’s hand, and she closes both around his.

“I’ve always been honest with you,” he says.

“You’d better not think that this is a good time to switch from that to ‘adults are complicated’,” she threatens.

Steve takes a breath.

“Last year. You remember last year, when Danno and I saved Hawaii, and the world, and the universe, by defusing a bomb, like the massive heroes we are?”

“Sounds like a Friday,” Grace says, with a nod.

“Have you studied radiation yet? Nuclear energy, uranium…” Grace nods. “Well, to pull the bomb apart, I sent your dad away, because you and Charlie need him. And I pulled it apart by myself. It’s not a good idea to handle that sort of thing, and I strapped a car battery to my chest to absorb some of the radiation. Because they’re lined with lead.”

Grace still looks serene, but concerned.

“Well, it didn’t go so well. I got some radiation poisoning. Do you understand what that means?”

Grace’s lower lip wobbles. “Uncle Steve, do you have cancer?”

“No,” he says, pulling her into his lap. She is unresisting, like she’s still eight years old and spindly-legged. “No, I don’t. But I might get it.”

She wraps her arms around him and cries into his neck. Fuck, he shouldn’t have done this. He shouldn’t have said a fucking word. This is the single biggest mistake he’s made since he bought Cath an engagement ring, and that really doesn’t rate against this.

When Grace’s tears subside, she elegantly pushes out of his lap, but tucks herself under his arm instead.

“Thank you for sending Danno away before you… but I wish you didn’t do that.”

They’re quiet a while.

Finally, she turns, the same earnest expression on her face. “I don’t know what this has to do with my question.”

Steve swallows. His mouth is dry; he reaches for his lemonade and takes a few sips.

“You have to realize, Gracie, I’ve spent my whole life until I met your dad completely self-reliant. I’ve been on my own for a long time. I take care of myself. And I…”

Rachel will kill him. Danny will hide the body. No one will ever know what happened.

“I don’t want to put it on someone else to look after me if I get sick.”

For a moment, she looks like she’s going to cry. She wraps her arms around her knees, and rests her chin on them, staring out the back door to the lanai, where the fairy lights she weaved through the shrubs and the lattice and above the awning have been twinkling beautifully for a couple of hours, now. Solar powered, and they come on when the darkness hits. They’d been strung up for a party, but Steve has never wanted them gone.

“That’s so selfish,” Grace says, at last.

Steve freezes. “Gracie?”

“Can you imagine how mom or Danno or even step-Stan would feel if me or Charlie got sick and wouldn’t let them help? Or if mom locked step-Stan out of the house because _she_ felt sick? It’s not right to shut people who love you out of your life because you’re sick. Or because you’re going to get sick one day. It’s not right. It’s _selfish_.”

Steve swallows. Tries to think. Swallows again.

He leans forward, elbows on his knees.

“Your dad was wrong,” Grace says, evenly. “Danno told me about what he did, and why. Like three years ago, when I asked why you left Hawaii. I know he thought he was doing the right thing, sending you away. But my dad is smarter than your dad. When you love someone, you keep them close, you protect them, you help them. And _you let them help you_.”

Steve feels stripped bare. He wishes he didn’t have tears pouring down his face, but he does. He wipes his cheeks and glances at Grace. Her eyes are red, her cheeks are red, and her fierceness is all Danny.

“Danno says it’s strong to be vulnerable,” she says.

Steve closes his eyes and feels his stomach clench. “Your Danno is the best man I know,” he answers, and forces himself to look her right in the eye. Vulnerable? He’s crying in front of a sixteen-year-old girl with more courage than he’s shown in fifteen years in the Navy and eight in law enforcement combined.

They’re quiet for a long time, but Grace has slumped beneath Steve’s arm again, her arms encircling his waist.

“This conversation was a ride,” she says.

Steve kisses her hair. “It was,” he agrees. “I’m sorry.”

“Are you sorry you’re sick or sorry you told me?”

He needs a moment to consider. “I’m sorry I’m sick, and I’m sorry your mom and Danno are going to bury me at sea when they find out I told you. I didn’t mean to upset you, Gracie.”

“I’m not a little kid. I’ve known you for half my life. I need you to be honest with me. So.” She pulls away, and Steve feels the loss. But he turns, again, meeting her eyes, resisting the urge to wipe the tears from his face because Danno is twice the man he’ll ever be, and he’s right; vulnerability is courage. “Are you and Danno in love?”

Steve takes a breath and fights the urge to look away.

“Yes,” he says. Because they are. Because they built towards it for years, and they struggled for years, and they tried and failed to date other people long term and there is not one single person on this earth that Steve wants by his side as much as he needs Detective Daniel Williams there.

“Then stop being an idiot, and take him on a proper date,” she says. And that’s it, that’s all they can say, so Grace curls up under Steve’s arm and turns the television back on.

 

 

Hours later, after Rachel’s driver has collected Grace to take her home, Steve’s phone beeps. He’s half expecting it to be a death threat from Rachel, but it’s a message from Danny. A reply to the photo of him and Grace.

_ <Thank you for loving my daughter almost as much as I do.>_

Steve stares at the screen. Danny is typing, evidenced by the floating dots that start and stop and then finally vanish. He should be asleep, anyway, they’re six hours behind.

When it’s apparent that Danny isn’t going to reply, Steve does.

_ <She makes it easy. What time do I pick u up>_

Steve stares at the screen. Fuck, he’d like a Scotch. Not a small one.

_ <Landing at 7.15 pm. But you don’t have to pick me up. The Camaro’s in the lot.>_

It’s fine, Steve can get a taxi to the airport. He’s not going to argue the point, though, not right then. His fingers hover over the keys, and he shifts on the mattress. Danny needs to know that Grace knows. Can it wait? What if she’s not as okay as she seems, and she calls him tomorrow, upset? Omission is a lie, too.

Danny is awake. He shouldn’t be, but he is. And Steve has proven time and time again that he is awful at writing anything that he thinks, or feels, anything that actually matters. Steve hits the call button, and Danny answers before the first ring is done.

“What,” he says.

“Look, Danny.”

Long silence. “Babe, you’re gonna have to follow that up. This sentence so far lacks a subject, an object, and… anything resembling punctuation.”

“Grace and I talked tonight.” And yes, part of it is private, but not all of it. “Listen, buddy. That kid of yours is way too smart for me. And you know I can’t lie to her.”

“You’d better not, or I’ll start with your thumbs.”

“I told her about the radiation poisoning.”

Danny is silent for about ten or thirteen years, and Steve wonders if he needs to start stockpiling aliases and commit to the mainland.

“Okay. Okay. Good. Good. Okay.”

It doesn’t sound good _or_ okay.

“Danno?”

“She needed to know. Did you fuck it up? I swear to god, McGarrett, if you did it wrong, I’ll feed you to a volcano.”

“She’s okay. Upset. But smarter than either of us. I sent Rachel a heads-up.”

Steve knows Danny, knows every inch of him, and if Danny’s not rubbing his eyes right now, Steve will do a cartwheel into the ocean. While on fire.

“I need to sleep. You and I have a lot of talking to do when I get home. I might punch you, I haven’t decided yet. Goodnight. I love you.”

“I love you, too, Danno.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next two chapters need a little revision, but they'll be out within the next few days. Thank you for reading!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dating. And disaster.

**May 2018**

 

It’s one of those cases where they just can’t seem to cut a break. Less shots fired, less blowing shit up, more Danny spending hours staring at lists and numbers and hotel guest registries and surveillance footage until his eyes cross. Trying things out, looking for a pattern he knows his analytical mind can find but hasn’t yet.

Anyway, it’s good, because it keeps the aforementioned analytical mind off other things. Like the notably absent eight feet of ex-Navy SEAL who shouldn’t be allowed to cut his own hair or drive a car. Danny glances at Steve’s office. He’s been on the phone for almost an hour.

Actually, that’s good. The longer Steve does this on-and-off disappearing act, secret squirrel phone calls and unannounced visits to the Governor, the longer Danny has to build up a list of complaints that he can shout in the car later. That will make him feel better.

Tani is sitting beside him. Apparently, she’s trying to absorb his method by osmosis. Fuck, he misses Kono. He feels immediately guilty; he likes Tani, no, he _loves_ Tani, she’s _ohana_ , or, well, _family_ , because Danny doesn’t do the random Hawaiian words thing unless those words are malasadas or coco puffs. But he misses Kono. There’s the same feeling, of an apprenticeship. Tani can’t shoot like Kono can, fuck, Danny’s not sure there are many people in the world who could shoot like Kono can, but honestly? With a little more work, Tani’s going to end up a better detective. She has the same capacity to twist her brain that Danny has.

“Woah, go back. No, the other window,” she says, reaching across to control the keyboard. She stares for long moments, and Danny does, too.

Her lips twitch like she’s talking something through in her head.

“Okay, this is weird. These payments. They look so random. They look sort of random. But add them up.” She points to the top of a list, and runs her finger to the bottom, and then jabs a finger at one outlier. “Look. Excluding that one, It’s exactly two hundred thousand dollars.”

It could be a coincidence, but. There are no coincidences. Danny glances at the account numbers.

“Dollars to malasadas, those accounts can be traced to offshore accounts linked to the same shell corp. Pity we’ll never prove it,” Danny says, with the miserable confidence of the perpetually pessimistic. Toast could have figured it out. Danny misses Toast. That bundle of paranoia. Wormed his way into their hearts, saved their asses a bunch of times, and then he’d had his life cut short so horribly.

Tani is chewing on her lip. Okay, so there are ways in which she reminds Danny of Steve, too, and for that matter, Jerry. She hates puzzles going unsolved.

“I might know a guy,” she admits.

“Say no more until said guy is here and working this out. You know where the CI contracts are?”

“I do, because I’m nosy,” she says, and flicks his ear. “You’re in a bad mood.”

“Of course I’m in a bad mood. Contract killings put me in a really bad mood. And my daughter wants to spend half my weekends with her friends.” He pulls back as Tani flicks his ear again, and then, because they’re both nine years old, there is a flick fight happening right as Steve is there in the door.

He eyes them both with an indescribable combination of amusement and contempt.

“I have another meeting with the Governor,” he says. “Do your best not to pull each other’s pigtails too hard. Junior has a possessive streak.”

And then he’s gone.

Fuck him. Danny ignores the sick feeling in the pit of his stomach, because he has work to do, and after their confrontation the other week, Steve is back to pretending there’s nothing going on. So. Yeah. Fuck him. And not in the fun way. He feels Tani’s eyes boring into his own, and shrugs it off, waving his hands in the air because this case is more frustrating than his short-sighted partner and his secret lunchtime club with the governor.

“Of course, there’s still nothing to explain why these guys would have wanted to assassinate, at _significant_ cost, a professor of American history from a community college no one’s ever heard of.”

“Right. Let’s order noodles for lunch,” Tani says, and they’re back on the job.

 

 

Around eight that night, Danny has to admit his brain is fried, and he’s no use anymore.

He’s stretched out on the couch in his office when Steve appears. Danny opens his eyes, but he says nothing.

“I’ve been in meetings,” Steve says, which is so awesome and specific that Danny immediately forgets all and any resentment towards his absent partner.

“Thank you for that very specific explanation of your whereabouts this week.” He closes his eyes. “As you can see, I’ve been a wreck, and now I’m meditating. So kindly shoo.”

Steve stands stock still for a few minutes, and then leaves. And Danny adds another fragile layer of I-don’t-give-a-shit to his already fractured heart.

 

 

When Danny wakes again, it’s with his heart pounding and the taste of cortisol in his mouth. He’s across the room and trying to coordinate his limbs to sit in his desk chair — and failing — when the overhead light comes on, and he realizes it was off.

“Danny?” Steve says. By the pillow crease on his face, he was asleep as well, but Steve always seems to sleep with one eye open. Residual SEAL ridiculousness.

“There’s something,” he says. “I was dreaming. I almost put it together.” He hunches over the tiny keyboard and brings up a series of faces lifted from the hotel security camera. “I almost had it. I almost have it. I…”

Steve rests a hand on Danny’s shoulder, staring intently at the screen.

“The hotel changed hands,” Danny says. “Last year, you remember? They got permission to close part of the street because they wanted to do a refurb in record time. Replaced all the furniture in the rooms, replaced the carpet, only stayed closed for ten days. In the offseason. Five hundred workers or something. They even made a documentary.”

“Yeah,” Steve says. “And?”

Danny says nothing, gazing almost sightlessly at the screen, flicking through still image after still image. Steve starts to knead his shoulders, and for a moment, Danny wants to shrug him off; but he feels the tension melt away, and his head gets clearer, and he can’t stop himself from groaning quietly at the warm touch.

Six years ago, Steve would have demanded he stop, and explain. But he knows sometimes Danny just needs to be allowed to let his brain run the way it wants to. He opens blueprints, and counts off rooms on the sixteenth floor, and then the fifteenth, and then the fourteenth.

And then the thirteenth.

He pushes up out of his chair and turns to Steve.

His mouth opens and closes, and Steve gives him one of those smiles he reserves strictly for Williamses.

“Babe,” he says, gripping one of Steve’s arms with both hands.

“What do you need?” Steve asks, fondly.

“I need coffee. And not from the machine. I need you to go down to Wailana and get me two large coffees. With sugar, no milk or cream. And something to eat so it doesn’t give me indigestion, because I’m old, now.”

“All that sugar and caffeine, and then you’re gonna crash, and it’s gonna be my fault.”

“Do me a favor. Just do it. I almost have this, and I just need quiet.”

 

 

By the time Steve is back with the coffee (with sugar; Steve has apparently decided to be magnanimous about this), Danny has almost everything he needs on the main screen in the bullpen. _Bullpen_. All the precincts Danny’s ever worked in, the bullpen has meant something very different. Less tech, more body odor, and giant egos.

He takes a sip of the coffee and rests his hand on Steve’s lower back, sniffing suspiciously at the cup in Steve’s hand.

“That smells like grass clippings.”

“It’s green tea. I’m supposed to be keeping healthy, remember? Would you do me a favor and tell me what you’ve got?”

Danny rolls his eyes, but it’s pure theater.

“The hotel was bought by a Chinese company. When it opened, in the fifties, there was no thirteenth floor, and the room numbers skipped thirteen. But thirteen is a lucky number for the Chinese. Interestingly, hotels in China that are intended to attract a Western clientele often skip the number, but… not relevant. _Not relevant_. My point is, they changed the numbering of the floors. And the numbering of the rooms. But the fire escape diagrams never got updated, and neither did the blueprints on file with the city. Plus, the hotel is such a big deal, there are copies of the floor plan on hundreds of hotel and travel websites. Without actually going and checking everything out, you could easily be forgiven for not knowing this. Are you following me?”

“Holy shit,” Steve says, pushing another file up onto the screen.

“So our assassin was supposed to take out the guy in room 1539. Not 1638.”

Steve is way ahead of him, looking at the name registered to 1539. “Christopher Jones. Do we have any intel on him?”

“Sure. We know it’s about the fakest fake name I’ve ever seen faked. Not quite James Smith, but it’s close enough.”

“So all the running around you and Tani have been doing, the historian’s research into New York organized crime?”

“Completely irrelevant. I should have realized that when I read his manuscript and saw how much he had wrong. I worked that world, remember. We’ve been barking up the wrong tree. And then…”

Danny pulls up a stack of stills, flicking through them one at a time.

“ _This_ guy. He never shows his face. It looks casual, but he knows where every camera is, and he doesn’t let himself be seen once. I looked over the day he checked in, too. Same deal. Except one.”

Danny brings up a photograph from a camera behind the registration desk at the hotel. ‘Christopher’ is wearing sunglasses, but he shifts them on his face just long enough to wipe what looks like flop sweat from his face. Either he’s sick, or terrified. Danny’s willing to bet on the second one.

Now it’s Steve’s turn to stare.

“Aneurysm face, version 4. You know this guy?”

“You know something, Danny, the fact you catalog and classify these expressions of mine, which I have no control over, it hurts my feelings a little bit.”

“You have feelings?”

He regrets it instantly, when AF4 turns to HP6 (hurt puppy, version 6), flashes briefly over Steve’s face, but mostly, he’s on a mission, and the mission always comes first.

Steve stares intently at the screen. White guy, sallow face, light-colored eyes (the camera is black and white, unfortunately) and a dramatic scar across his lower lip. Dirty-looking hair.

“No way,” Steve says. “Hey, you know how to do the face… thing?”

Danny taps at the board until Steve has tools to give the man facial hair. A sad looking goatee.

“Gotcha,” he says. Whatever moment they’d just had is gone. Good riddance. “Sergey Isayev. His brother, Danila, was an arms dealer. Russian mob ties, but he ran his own game. Danila put Sergey through college. MIT. Kid’s a genius. He went by Sergei Fellini while he was at school. Bad blood in the family meant he cut ties as soon as he graduated, in 2007.”

“So…” Danny hedges his bets. “Good guy, then?”

“No. Less than four months after he graduated, Sergey hacked into MSS servers and released intel that led the CIA to about a hundred arrests of Chinese spies in America. He was lauded as a hero, though he evaded questioning and went into hiding. Couple of months after that, something changed. He started blackmailing dignitaries, released information that compromised CIA assets, and got away with a few million dollars before he went to ground again. And then three months ago, he was suspected of hacking a French bank account that was later linked to terrorist activity in Africa.”

“I’m going with bad guy.”

“I’m going with, guy who wants money and doesn’t work for anyone but himself. But if he’s here, and he knows someone’s after him, he’ll have gone to ground until the heat’s off. He might be looking to get off the island, any way but the right way. Thing about this guy is he has no friends, no one to help him who’s not looking for a payday. And guys who are looking for a payday are easy to buy.”

Steve’s lip curls into a smile, and he rests his arm across Danny’s shoulders.

“Get his face on the no-fly list. That’s a wig. He’s bald as a baby, has been since he was twenty. Alert HPD, run facial rec…”

“Yes, Steve. Save time, tell me to do my job.” Danny gives Steve a smile and reaches for his phone. He’s turned on his heel, heading back to his office, when he feels Steve tug gently on his shirt. Steve hands him coffee number two, and their fingers brush.

Danny pauses. That’s emotion face, version 7. Generally signifies either _Danny is awesome_ , or _Gracie hugged me_.

“I like watching you work,” Steve says, quietly.

“Back atcha, babe,” Danny says.

“We’ll talk soon,” Steve promises, and he means it, because he drops eye contact for a second.

“Let’s get this guy into protective custody. Or… kneecap him, or whatever. You call the kids, I’ll call Lou.”

 

 

It’s a day and a half before a CI with links to human trafficking makes contact to let them know that his boss has just been offered four million to get him to Japan. Two hours after that, the op begins. Two hours after that, the FBI and the CIA start squabbling over who gets to prosecute good old Sergey, and the case is out of their hands before Steve can break his jaw for compromising undercover assets.

 

 

Danny spends Saturday doing the pile of laundry that now reminds him of college, in both size and offensiveness, cleaning his house (the whole strategic pile system had been beaten out of him by Steve’s look of horror on what he still likes to think of as Frittata Day), and wondering when, if ever, this feted conversation is going to happen. Steve doesn’t call. What a shocking turn of events.

He spends Saturday night with his beautiful children (Grace has been considerably less resentful of time spent away from her friends, lately, though his stomach clenches when she asks if Steve is coming around. They really need to talk, too, but tonight, there’s a comfort that he doesn’t want to interrupt). They watch a cartoon movie that Charlie is lately enamored with, and then put him to bed, and then Danny and Grace grab a pint of ice cream from the freezer and pick at it slowly while watching something Grace had decided Danny really needed to see.

“Monkey,” he says.

“Danno.”

“Steve told me he told you about…”

Grace tenses, but shifts closer, fitting herself under his arm. “Not tonight,” she says. “I know we need to talk about it. But not tonight.”

Apparently, Danny’s instincts about her moods haven’t disappeared, as she’s gone from the little girl he fell in love with to the woman she’s all too rapidly becoming.

He drops them back with Rachel in the morning, and bites back the sick feeling of not being able to live with them full time. And then he heads home to work on paperwork for the restaurant, which will never, ever be called Steve’s.

 

 

Steve sends a message, around lunchtime on Sunday.

_< Hey Danny, howzit. I’m picking you up at 1900, is that okay>_

Danny stares at the text for a good two minutes, trying to remember if they had plans of some kind. If this is a surprise trip to the lawyer’s office to sign those papers already, they’ll never find Steve’s body. Whatever, it’s fine. He has no plans beyond sitting on the couch in his underwear and eating yesterday’s pizza.

_< You can’t just say 7pm?>_

Danny can almost hear Steve glaring at the phone.

_< Are you serious>_

_< Hey Danny, howzit. I’m picking you up at 7pm, is that okay>_

Danny snorts.

_< Fine, see you then.>_

 

When Steve knocks on the door a couple of minutes before seven, Danny furrows his brows; because he’d expected to hear the truck horn from the road, and besides, Steve never knocks. He has a key, and the door is unlocked anyway. Plus, when Danny opens the door, Steve is wearing… well, cargos, but his _good_ cargos, and a shirt that he’s never been shot in. He also has his most dazzling smile on, which is a thing.

“You knocked,” Danny says, at the door.

“Are you complaining?”

“No, it’s refreshing. Where are we going?” Danny asks as he pulls the door closed, but Steve just smiles again. It’s not a total surprise when he parks, eventually, outside their restaurant. It _is_ a surprise when Steve steers him down the street, though, to a nice spot Danny hasn’t been to in a couple of years. He casts a sideways glance at Steve when he tells the maître d’ that they have a reservation for two at _seven-thirty_. The way Steve emphasizes the time, civilian time, rather than nineteen-hundred and thirty hours, it feels pointed. Danny rolls his eyes and shoves his hands in his pockets, but follows Steve out to the balcony, to a beautifully-placed table where they can hear the roar of the ocean. Honestly, it’s not that bad.

No, it’s nice.

Danny is starting to like the sound of the ocean, so the chances are pretty good that soon, rain is going to start rising from the ground, instead of falling from the sky.

He actually gets a chill when the sommelier brings two glasses of champagne.

“Wait, wait,” Danny says, raising a hand when Steve lifts his glass, looking for all the world like a man about to make a toast. “Is this industrial espionage, Steven?”

“Naw, Danny,” Steve says, suddenly looking unsure of himself. “It’s a date.”

“A date.”

“A date. I picked you up, I brought you to dinner, I even have my wallet,” he adds, with a sparkle in his eye. “It’s a date, Danny. You might think I don’t listen to what you say, but I do.”

He still has the glass in his hand, and that look on his face that he gets, when he’s not chasing bad guys across railway cars or getting Danny shot at, eager to please. It brings back memories. Steve’s expression when he’s got a hand on Danny’s cock, watching for a reaction, leaning in for another kiss.

“Well, I have a clue for you; if you want to take someone out on a date, it’s generally a good idea to ask, instead of specifying in military time the exact moment you plan to kidnap them, ya putz.”

Steve still looks unsure, but his lips curl. “Copy that.”

Danny feels a warmth spread across the back of his neck. The fact that Steve is willing to try is touching.

“I’m not trying to trap you into anything, Steve. I’m sorry. What I said. I shouldn’t have put that on you.”

Steve lowers the glass, for a moment, expression slightly crestfallen, eyes too big for his face.

“You said you want us to be together. Did you mean it?”

Yeah, he meant it. Danny opens his mouth, closes it again. “I meant it. But not if it’s one-sided, Steve. We’re adults. We’re friends. We’re partners _and_ best friends **_and_** business partners and I’m not going to cry in my room and listen to sad music if the captain of the football team doesn’t want to take me to prom.”

Steve runs his hand over his hair. It’s grown back a little. “What if the captain of the football team doesn’t know what he’s doing? Or how to ask?”

“Is that what’s going on here Steve?”

“You think I’ve got much experience dating?”

Catherine comes to mind. But, no, Danny thinks maybe he gets it.

“I don’t. I don’t actually have much experience doing anything normal. So yeah, Danny, I’m floundering, but I’m willing to try, and I thought that might count for something. After…”

After so much history. After everything they’ve done, and never acknowledged. After all of it. It counts for something.

“Counts for a lot,” Danny says, lifting the glass. Steve grins in the way that takes Danny’s breath away on a regular basis.

“To trying,” Steve says, and bumps his ankle against Danny’s under the table as their glasses clink together, and they sip.

Danny narrows his eyes. “You’d better not be planning to finish that drink.”

Steve snickers. “Mine is sparkling apple juice.”

Danny doesn’t grin, at that. It’s too big a thing to grin at. He pauses, instead, and nods, and takes another sip of his own sparkling wine, before looking around the room.

This is not Steve’s kind of place, but that seems weighty, suddenly. He’s taken several steps out of his comfort zone to give Danny the sort of date he anticipates Danny will like.

“Oh hey, I should have said. Tani and I figured something out yesterday and—”

“No,” Steve says. “No. This,” and he waves a finger in a very _Danny_ way between the two of them, “is a date, and I don’t care what you and Tani came up with. Understood? Sorry, Jersey Boy. I should have said ‘ _capisce_ ’.”

Danny grins. “You learned that from the Sopranos, not me.”

With that out of the way, they descend rapidly into bickering, about the restaurant, about the office, about Junior and Tani and whether or not Jerry might be right about some of his conspiracy theories. About Grace, and how quickly she’d picked up stand-up paddle boarding. It’s a familiar, beloved rhythm, and it’s easy, and there’s an edge to it which Danny finds freshly thrilling. They’ve eaten hundreds of meals together. But this _feels_ like a date. An honest to god _date_ , despite the fact that Steve didn’t know how to ask. If it’s odd to be walked back to his door by Steve at the end of the night, Danny doesn’t say so.

“You want to come in?” he asks. Steve hesitates. It’s always weird to see Steve hesitate. It’s not something he does, even when he really, really should. Danny’s not even sure what he’s asking. No, he knows. If Steve wants to stay the night, Danny wants him to. The memories of Steve’s hands on his body are much too distant.

“Three date rule, Danno,” Steve replies, with his eyes twinkling. “I looked it up on bing.”

“Really? Are we not a little too far along for the niceties? And learn to google, no one uses bing.”

Steve has a warm, kind of yearning look in his eyes, but he’s still standing there, eight feet of Navy SEAL, wanting what he wants but having apparently decided to do it properly. Pity his commitment to following police procedure isn’t this sincere.

Steve takes Danny’s wrist, and leans in, and their lips meet.

They’ve always kissed well. It’s easy to get caught up in the heat of it, when Steve slips his arm around Danny’s waist and pulls him closer. Rhett Butler sweeping Scarlet off her feet, it’s not far off, maybe a little more heterosexual an image than Danny’s comfortable with, but he feels swooned. Steve has swooned him, again, and the three date rule seems irrelevant. Danny wants his hands on Steve. Urgently, immediately, no clothes in the way. He tastes Steve’s tongue, lets out some embarrassing hybrid between whimper and groan as Steve licks into his mouth; it feels good, feels right, feels like first base, and Steve can pick the goal here, since Danny’s body is suddenly thrumming with _godyesnowplease_.

When he pulls away, it rates as one of the five most disappointing moments in Danny’s life. He chases Steve’s mouth for an embarrassing second, on his actual _tiptoes_ , but lets the moment end.

“That was a great date,” Steve says, though somehow with the expression on his face, it still comes across as a question.

“Am I grading on a curve, here, or what?”

Steve smiles, and the warmth meets his eyes. He doesn’t look as unsure, anymore.

“I’d better go before I break the three date rule.”

“Fuck the three date rule,” Danny says, moving closer, and Steve looks tempted, for a moment, letting his eyes roam down Danny’s body, lingering appreciatively at the bulge in his pants for a wistful moment or two. He leans closer, hands safely in his pockets.

“We doing this, Danno?” Steve asks.

“We’re doing this, babe,” Danny answers, and he’s tempted for a moment to throw in a half-dozen disclaimers about how if it doesn’t work it doesn’t work and how they’re getting old and cranky and maybe it just won’t, but he doesn’t say any of that. Just, _we’re doing this_.

“Then let’s do it right,” Steve says, and leans down for one last kiss, on Danny’s cheek. “G’night, Danny.”

Danny watches him walk away.

“Second date better be soon, Steven,” he calls.

“You’ve got my number, Danny,” Steve calls back, as he swings into the front seat of his truck.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have the next few chapters written but they are rough and need revision. I'll get them out ASAP. I'd really like to thank those amazing people who left such kind feedback and welcomed me to the fandom -- there are so many really talented and hard-working writers here that I appreciate you giving a newbie a shot. 
> 
> I was determined that this story would be under 50K, but it's already well over that, without having come anywhere near what I need to achieve. So I hope you'll be willing to stick with me on this journey.
> 
> The next chapter will not be fluffy.
> 
> ~pbk


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve's absences suddenly make sense.

**May 2018**

 

Steve isn’t in the office. Again.

It shouldn’t bother Danny. It shouldn’t. But it does, especially after the curt text he’d received at seven in the morning saying Steve couldn’t pick him up. It hadn’t even mattered; the Camaro was parked in Danny’s driveway, but still.

It’s the fucking principle of the thing.

He’d briefly considered a biting reply. _Excellent, I get to drive my own car_. But he hadn’t even acknowledged it. Who cares where Steve is? Danny has barely laid eyes on him all week.

Actually, that’s a lie, but it’s less than usual and he’s annoyed as hell about it. They’d had a date. An actual date, on the weekend, with actual kissing afterwards and promises that they were doing this, and now Steve is back to gruff and absent.

Tani arrives around eight with a shit-eating grin and salt in her hair. Junior arrives exactly five minutes later. They’re not very subtle. Danny briefly considers asking is they’ve set a date, and then decides against it, because it’s sort of mean to resent a couple of kids who’ve got their shit sorted out in less than a year, while he’s still aching, taking the tiniest of steps forward, and giant leaps back.

“Where’s our fearless leader?” Lou asks, handing Danny a cup of coffee.

“No clue. We have a case. Last night, the museum got hit. They didn’t touch the floor. Went through the back rooms instead, huge mess, the curator is on her way.”

Lou coughs. “And again I ask, where’s our fearless leader?”

Danny grits his teeth. Yes, he’s pinged Steve’s cell. Yes, it was underhanded, yes, he shouldn’t have.

“He’s with the Governor. Shut up. The curator is on her way in, and the, uh, head honcho, I can’t even remember the title… it doesn’t even matter. He’s flying in from Seattle, won’t be here for a few hours. We’re coordinating with HPD to sort out inventory, but I’m hoping that Dr…”

He glances down at the post-it note stuck to the back of his hand.

“Dr. Naomi Carrere will be able to give us a sense of what might be worth ransacking back rooms for, when all the high-value stuff is sitting there on display. Whaddya say, you up to playing partner?”

Danny gives Lou a smile, but he knows, knows because he feels it and knows because Lou has that patient, understanding, _my-kids-are-idiots_ expression on his face that the smile hasn’t reached his eyes.

 

 

The night Danny had told Kono he was in love with their boss, the two of them had already drunk their respective bodyweights in tequila. She’d laughed at him. Apparently, he wasn’t subtle.

“Brah, you’re not subtle,” she’d said. That was his biggest clue, about the not-subtle thing.

Sprawled on his couch in his underwear, after a meal of really suspicious Thai leftovers he should probably have just tossed, and a rapid time zone difference calculation which suggests this might not be a good idea, he calls her. Time zones be damned. He needs to talk.

The phone rings out, and he tosses his cell on the table, miserable. He closes his eyes, and lets himself remember.

 

 

**May 2015**

 

It wasn’t as if there was ever anything resembling downtime, at Five-Oh. Ever. Downtime was best characterized by their ammunition orders being slightly lower than usual. Or Steve obeying traffic laws for a whole ten minutes. But it had been, without question, some of the most intense weeks of Danny’s life, and he had been reeling. 

Maybe it would have been okay, without the whole ‘I have a son I’ve never been allowed to acknowledge’ thing. Funny thing, though. Steve had been the one, all those years ago, to mention that Charlie looked like Danny. Danny hadn’t been able to see it. Steve had said Charlie radiated light, and Danny hadn’t even been able to hear that, it was so painful. He’d said nothing. It meant nothing. He had Grace. If she was the only child Danny ever had, she was always going to be the best thing about his life.

Danny had a son. A son who was sick. A son he could save. He should never have even climbed into a helicopter with his insane partner and a nuclear fucking bomb, but he’d done it, and that was it, they’d die or not. Steve’s smile had quickened Danny’s heartbeat.

Maybe it was a mistake, dancing with Steve at Kono and Adam’s wedding. But it had felt so good, even if Steve couldn't figure out whether or not he was leading. They’d locked eyes and stayed that way until Grace had cut in to dance with Steve, and Danny had lifted Charlie onto his hip and started dancing with him, too.

Whatever had come before, that had been the moment Danny had first seen the family he wanted. Steve and Danno, Gracie and Charlie. But he’d ignored the stab of pain, and then it was done.

Besides, Cath was there. And Steve loved Cath. There was only one right thing to do.

 

 

“Steve has been very happy since you've been back.”

“Me, too.” Catherine had wiped a tear away, and couldn’t meet Danny’s eyes.

“That's good,” he said. “‘Cause I think that that's what he likes, when you are happy _here_ , you know?”

Catherine wiped away another tear. “I wish that was true,” she said.

They looked out over the water, silent for a long moment, Danny trying to figure out what he should say.

“We never clicked. I wanted to. We had a good thing. But we never… I don’t know, Danny, I mean, you’ve got to understand, the way my life has been, the way his life has been — the ways people fall in love, we’ve never… seen that, never been there, ships in the night, just meeting each other's needs when we can. And…”

Danny stayed silent.

“He settled for me.”

Danny reached out, took her hand, because it wasn’t true, couldn’t be. “Cath —”

“No. No, let me finish, and let me stutter, and let me say this wrong, because I’m no better at this than he is. He _settled_ for me. We promised our lives to this country, not ourselves. We fell into this easy rhythm because it was the path of least resistance. We’ve never been passionate about each other, and God knows, we’ve tried. I’ve never seen him passionate about anything that didn’t amount to proving he was stronger, faster, smarter than the other guy. Making sure people pay for their crimes. Or pulling someone else up by their bootstraps. I’ve never seen him passionate about anything he wanted _for himself_. Least of all me.”

Danny stayed silent.

“Until he met you.”

That had been the last thing Danny had ever expected to hear. His whole body tensed, ready to argue.

“He’s gonna ask you to marry him,” he blurted, which was utterly unforgivable. That was not his secret to share.

“I know,” Catherine said. “I wish I hadn’t figured it out, but I know. But here’s the thing, Danny…”

She was silent, her throat working, her eyes scanning the horizon as if she was hoping for a teleprompter or angels or something. Danny turned his face away.

“I need more than a relationship can give me, right now. And I’ll always need more than a relationship with someone who has settled for me because he doesn’t think he can do any better.”

There might have been a dozen times in Danny’s life when he’d been lost for words, but that had been one of them.

“He loves you. He might not know how to, but he does. He loves you. He _needs_ you. You have this idea of what Steve is like, but the truth is, he’s not like that with anyone except you. I’d be heartbroken, if I wasn’t so sure I was making the right decision. I’m leaving, Danny,” she said, meeting his eyes again. “And I’m not planning to come back.”

He should have ended the conversation there and walked away, but he hadn’t. Couldn’t. Mostly, it was selfish; he wanted to ask a million questions, make Catherine prove her hypothesis, ask for proof, ask for specific examples of what showed he was loved back. Partly, it was Cath’s broken expression.

“You’re gonna break his heart,” he said, in the end, hoping it might make the difference.

“No, I’m not. And please, Danny. Please.” She took his hands. “Don’t you break it, either. I’m pretty sure you’re the only person in the world who could, and I’m asking you. Please. **_Don’t_**.”

 

 

The next day, at the Palace, Steve had seemed okay. Seemed, being the operative word, obviously, because he was buttoned down so tight that even Danny couldn’t read him. He’d hurtled himself back into the job, and everyone knew not to pry when he was in that mode.

When Danny got home after five hours of paperwork on a drug case, he hadn’t been able to decide whether he was surprised or not to find Steve sitting on his front step. He didn’t say a word, just sat down, and kept his mouth shut. It seemed like the right thing to do, at the time.

Which didn’t explain why he was suddenly babbling.

“She’s an amazing woman, Steve, I’m not even going to ask how you are. I know you’re not okay, but the thing you always forget is you don’t have to be okay all the time, okay? That’s too many okays. But I think you get my drift. The thing is, and I know you don’t want to hear this — but if a thing is meant to go right, it goes right. Look at me and Rachel.”

Steve had stayed silent.

“Babe.”

Steve hadn’t even moved. Still as a stone, except his giraffe eyelashes, batting in the night.

“Steven.”

Steve had forced himself to his feet.

“It’s been years,” he said.

“I know.”

“She said she loved me, but she didn’t want to be with me. She said we’d always be friends. I bought a ring, Danny.”

“I know.”

Steve stood stock-still for a long moment.

“Listen, babe. Charlie’s ready for the bone marrow transplant. I’m gonna be in the hospital tomorrow. I don’t wanna leave you like this. Would you go stay with Chin?”

Steve’s head snapped to Danny. “No! If you’re in the hospital, I’ll be there. What time?”

“You don’t need to do that.”

“What time?”

Danny sighed. “I’ve got an intake interview at seven am.”

“I’ll pick you up at six,” Steve said, and then he was gone.

 

 

Maybe Danny shouldn’t have been surprised when Steve brought him back to his own place, instead of Danny’s, two days later. But he was. He didn’t bother arguing. Danny had been shot, he’d broken bones, he’d been stabbed, but having bone marrow drawn had been painful in ways he couldn’t even think about. He didn’t bother arguing when Steve installed him on the couch, when Steve spent most of an afternoon making the best soup Danny had ever tasted (Clara, bless her, had never been an amazing cook — ketchup on macaroni, what was she even thinking). Or when he sat much closer than he really needed to on the couch and gathered Danny under his arm while they watched a documentary about the first ever FBI profilers.

Danny wondered about Cath’s assessment of their relationship. No matter how he approached it, it seemed ridiculous. Steve was a touchy, clingy, octopus of a partner, yes. And the memories of Colombia were far from fading. But he was still Steve. Danny knew, from various encounters in his past, that occasionally having sex with men didn’t mean a guy was prepared to call himself gay, bisexual, whatever. In truth, it pissed him off, though. He’d read an article about a guy who identified as straight but had fucked dozens of men, in various mining camps. It just sounded like biphobia wrapped up in the political correctness of having the right to choose your own labels. But then, Danny had been an out, bisexual teenager in high school with a mean right hook for anyone who thought it was a good idea to fuck with him. So he was probably not the right spokesperson for personal labeling.

Steve’s fingers caught in Danny’s hair.

Danny shivered.

He imagined raising his voice. _I’m no rebound_ , McGarrett, he’d say.

Instead, ten minutes later, he had three fingers in Steve’s ass, talking absolute filth into his ear, thrilling to the sound of Steve begging him to just shut up and fuck him already.

On the floor. Maybe it was better. Cath had been in Steve’s bed only days before, and her perfume might still have lingered. Danny hadn’t thought he could handle that at all.

“Lemme flip over,” Steve begged, and Danny pulled out. “It’s deeper. Better. Please, Danny…”

Steve got up on his knees, and Danny realized his own knee would be screaming for a week, but hearing that pleading tone in Steve’s voice, he’d found he really didn’t care. He pushed inside again, hands gripping Steve’s hips hard enough so his nails left the impressions of little half-moons.

Steve pushed himself up on one elbow so he could get a little leverage, pushing back against Danny’s thrusts. Danny gritted his teeth; his knee was screaming, the puncture site in his hip was screaming, but he felt so fucking good he just couldn’t bring himself to care.

“So there is a way to shut you up,” Steve said, voice a little wrecked and breathless.

“Huh?”

“Thought you’d be louder.”

Danny smirked, looking down, loving the way his cock looked each time he pulled a little way out and slammed home again.

Yeah, he was loud. Sometimes. Maybe even usually, talking a mile a minute. Danny loved dirty talk, couldn’t deny it. But this, he wanted to savor. He felt sweat drip into his eyes and watched as Steve reached for his own cock, jerking hard in time with Danny’s thrusts.

Danny had thought he’d last about ten seconds, and here he was, here they both were, and he wondered if Steve was doing the same thing that he was, forcibly holding off; neither of them got laid often enough for this to happen.

Shouldn’t have overthought it. Steve let out a plaintive whine as his entire body shuddered, and he came all over the rug beneath them. Clamping down hard so that all of Danny’s good intentions were shattered, and he followed suit moments later.

Steve didn’t bother trying to hold himself up, and they ended up in a tangle on the floor, still breathing hard, come leaking down between Steve’s thighs (shit, they hadn’t used a condom, pair of idiots) and sweat starting to cool on their skin.

Danny rolled onto his back, and winced.

“Shit, Danno, your knee. Your hip.” Steve pushed himself up on one elbow and reached out to run the pad of one finger over Danny’s bruise, gently.

“I’ll survive,” Danny said, and Steve hesitantly tangled their fingers together.

There hadn’t been any real discussion about it, but after Danny had taken his tablets, Steve helped him hobble up the stairs to his own bedroom. And after weeks of one punch after another, this… this felt good, real, comfortable, Steve carefully spooning him from behind, wrapping around Danny so tight.

Maybe they were going to make it, after all.

 

 

Danny woke at seven, disoriented and sore, his knee screaming profanities and the extraction site on his hip throbbing, since it had been so long since he had taken pain killers. And he was cold.

Alone.

“Steve?”

The house was silent.

“Steve? Babe?”

He showered, and spent a torturously long time descending the stairs — down was so much worse than up, when his knee was bad — and stumbled out onto the lanai, hoping to see Steve in the water. But he wasn’t there. He looked around, expecting a note, something, anything to indicate where he was. Danny called Chin at eight, probing as much as he could, until it was pretty clear that they hadn’t picked up an urgent case, and that Chin wasn’t expecting to hear from him today, since he was supposed to be resting.

Danny took his pills, and sat on the couch, waiting, until well after nine. And then he called a taxi to take him home.

“Screw you, McGarrett,” he mumbled, as he pulled his duffel over his shoulder, and looked out over the water one more time.

 

 

The following Monday, Danny had dragged himself into the office, still sore, but managing, leaning more heavily on his hated cane than he wanted to. He dropped into his office chair and booted his laptop. No one else was around, and he knew he needed to read through Chin’s reports from the week before, and bring himself up to speed. An hour later, Steve stepped into his office, and leaned against the door jamb.

“How are you feeling?” he asked, once it was clear Danny wasn’t going to acknowledge him.

“Peachy.”

Steve had stepped forward, cautiously. He passed Danny a slip of paper. Danny read it, and glanced up at last.

“Jerry Rice?”

“Yeah, we saw him while you were in the hospital. Asked him to sign you an autograph. I forgot to give it to you.”

Danny stared at the page for a long time, and then put it aside. “Thanks.”

Steve didn’t move.

“I’ve got a lot of reading to do,” Danny said. “Like I said, thank you. I really need to get stuck into this.”

“Danny…”

“No. No. No. No, we’re not doing this, Steve. We’re not. I woke up alone, and you didn’t come back, and you didn’t call to apologize for being an absolute schmuck, so this — whatever this is, or probably isn’t — it’s done. You’re my partner, you’re my best friend, I love you very much. And this is _done_. So now would be a good time for you to politely stop leaning and start walking. I have work to do.”

Steve didn’t say another word.

 

 

**May 2018**

 

“How are we going on the inventory?” Danny asks, approaching the table.

Tani and Lou exchange a glance, and Tani speaks. “We’re not. Every room that got hit is full of all kinds of extremely old, basically useless crap. Papers, letters, receipts, small artifacts. The boxes are labeled with contents and dates and the box names have been computerized, but the contents… apparently, they have a long-term plan to get everything into a digital format, but no funds or manpower to start the job.”

“All the boxes are there. So whatever the guy — or guys — were looking for, it was small and specific.” Lou shrugs helplessly. “No idea what chance we’ve got at ever figuring this out.”

“Why are we on this? Why isn’t it HPD? Are we not an elite task force with considerably more pressing issues?”

“Because the museum belongs to the State of Hawaii, the head of the Board of trustees is a friend of the Governor’s, and we don’t have a choice,” Tani says.

Junior arrives, and Tani’s face lights up. Her posture shifts as they beam at each other, and Lou rolls his eyes. Young love.

Danny misses Steve like a limb. He needs a moment, he needs an hour, he needs to ask Steve on their second date already. They haven’t seen this little of each other in years. No casual barbecue dinners, no yelling at the game on a Friday night.

As if he’s been summoned, Steve strides into headquarters like a man on a mission. He stands close enough to Danny so Danny can feel the fabric of their clothes brush together when he moves, arms crossed tightly over his chest and eyes focused like lasers. He listens, he nods, and he glances at his watch.

“Alright. I’m not wasting more man-hours on this until they can figure out what got taken. This isn’t life or death.” He nods sharply, and checks his watch again.

A few moments later, the doors open again, and Danny looks up to see what’s happening. The man who joins them in the bullpen is maddeningly familiar, but Danny can’t place the face, not right away. Steve crosses the small space to shake his hand; he’s almost Steve’s height, similar build, black guy with the unmistakable aura of law enforcement. Danny leans his hip against the table and crosses his arms as Steve brings the man into the bullpen.

“Where’s Jerry?” Steve asks, annoyed, but Jerry is seconds behind him with a Leonard’s box in his hands and the look of a man who has a shiny new conspiracy theory to unpack.

“So I think I’ve figured this out,” Jerry says, putting the box carefully on the edge of the table. “The museum has a bunch of… hello, new guy.”

Danny is tense. Danny hasn’t felt this tense in some time; it’s already taken over his shoulders, which ache, and is currently working its way into his neck.

“Steve,” he says. “You gonna make introductions?”

Steve looks around the room, satisfied that the team is all here.

“Okay, It’s no secret that I’ve been spending a lot of time with the Governor, these past couple of weeks, and I’m sorry my absence has been so disruptive. It’s time you all knew what was happening.”

He rubs his face. Classic Steve stress sign. Danny wants to hold him. Whatever the hell has been going on, that’s kept Steve from him, and from the restaurant, and got Charlie asking where he is — yes, he’s ready to know, he was ready days ago.

“This is Reggie Cole,” he says. Danny finally puts it together; Cole had been undercover for the FBI, lost his wife (and nearly his life) when a corrupt agent had set him up.

“Good to see you, Reggie,” he says. “How’s the kid?”

“Almost as tall as I am, and kicking twice as much ass as I was at his age.” Reggie looks relieved to have been addressed directly, and by someone who knows him, more to the point. “Made Varsity this year.”

Danny grins, and nods, and turns his attention back to Steve, who couldn’t be more stressed with a gun in his face. On second thought, Danny has seen Steve with a gun in his face, and he is never this stressed. Steve’s eyes are slightly red, as if he’s been on the edge for hours, trying not to cry.

Considering how rarely Danny has seen Steve cry, it’s not a look that eases the tension in Danny’s neck. At all.

“Reggie will be stepping in as the new head of Five-Oh,” Steve says, looking Danny in the eye. “We’ll have a four-week handover, and after that, I’ll be available to consult. But I’m stepping down. I’m retiring. It’s no secret that my health isn’t good.” He’s still holding Danny’s eyes, and Danny wants to go to him, hold him, kiss him everywhere and stop this from hurting Steve as much as it is; but he can’t.

“I need to focus on my health, and my family, and the restaurant. It’s taken a couple of weeks to identify possible candidates, and Reggie is the right one. He’s a damn good investigator, and more. I’m sorry I kept this from you all, but I needed to know we had succession figured out before I could bring this to you.”

Steve takes a deep breath. So does Danny. His family?

“We’ll be meeting at eleven hundred hours to discuss the details. All of us. But for now, Lou, Tani, Junior, please bring Reggie up to speed on the current cases.”

Steve squeezes Reggie’s shoulder for a moment, and then leaves, heading directly to his office, where he sits at his desk, and buries his face in his hands. Danny stares for long moments, and then excuses himself. He thinks. Maybe he didn’t say anything out loud, but by the shell-shocked faces around the room, no one is paying attention anyway. Hands in his pockets, he makes his way to Steve’s office, lets himself in, and closes the door behind him.

“You okay, babe?”

Steve doesn’t move. Danny closes the blind, just the main one, letting the shutters close out shocked, prying eyes.

“I’m okay,” Steve says, lifting his head, and swiveling his chair just enough to let Danny get in and crowd him. Danny stands between his parted legs, and puts a hand on his hair.

Steve leans in, breathing against Danny’s stomach, and settles his hands on the back of Danny’s thighs. Danny’s tension melts away.

“Are you sure about this?”

He doesn’t want to ask. He wants to take this as the gift it is, wants to drag Steve to the couch and cuddle until this faint tremor in Steve’s body subsides. But he can’t. They can’t. So he runs his hand over Steve’s head, focussing on the way the short bristles feel against his fingers, and lets his other hand press against Steve’s cheek and neck.

“For you,” Steve says, “I’m sure. For _us_. You’re right. I want to get old. As old as I can. I want to get old with you, Danny.”

He looks up, then, eyes bloodshot and wary. Danny leans down, cups his face, and kisses him. It’s meant to be brief, reassuring, but Steve pulls him in and deepens it, desperate, tired, affectionate, apologetic.

Danny goes down on his good knee, and they grip each other’s forearms. Steve never breaks eye contact.

“So who’s replacing me?” he asks.

Steve barks a laugh. “I wasn’t going to make that decision for you. Are you gonna retire too?”

“I told you I wanted _us_ to retire, not you. I'll type my letter today. I’ll hand deliver copies to HPD and the Governor. I’ll frame a copy for you.”

“I’m not good at things,” Steve tries to start.

“You’re good at everything, what are you talking about. Do me a favor, shut your mouth.”

“I’m not good at this. Relationship stuff. I’m gonna fuck it up, Danny. I’m gonna do the wrong thing, say the wrong thing, I’m gonna make you insane.”

“Sounds like a day that ends in Y, babe.”

Steve smiles. It’s wonky and unsure, but it’s a smile.

“I’m all in. I need you to know that. I fucked up. You should never wake up alone, Danny. I’m all in. And I’m sorry about…”

“Hey, hey. Shut up. I don’t care, it got us here, okay? Okay? It got us here. Just shut up and let me bask.”

“Move in with me.”

“That would be a shitty second date.”

“Get up, you’re gonna hurt your knee.”

Danny stands, cringing as he moves to the couch, Steve slipping in beside him.

“You know I know when you’re lying. Who’s replacing me?”

Steve guffaws, and drapes his arm over Danny’s shoulders, pulling him in.

“I have no clue, man. Turns out you’re a lot harder to replace than I am. But we’ll get there.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just super quietly, I'd love to connect to a beta reader. I'm loving writing this story, but I've already corrected typos in the early parts, and.... I mean, I know, I'm not establised in this fandom. But. I would like to connect. And I would like someone pretty whizz-bang at proofing to come be my new buddy.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Really, though, there was never any suggestion that this would be easy. And sooner or later, it's better to accept that if someone loves you, you should let them love you.

**June 2018**

 

The restaurant is coming together. The kitchen is finished, the electrical work is up to code, and fifteen years of Steve’s danger pay has almost run out, along with a significant portion of Kamekona’s investment, so this has to work. He parks outside, cursing the rain that is just starting to come down, and grabs a couple of boxes off the back of the truck. Deliveries that somehow ended up at his house, instead of the restaurant. He doesn’t even know what they are. Anyway, he’s meeting Danny for something or other, so he saved a trip.

When he pushes the door open with his hip, he does a double take. The place is tidy, for the first time in weeks. There’s music playing, something in the kitchen smells so good that Steve’s mouth has started watering, and the lights are on low. He can smell candles.

“Danny?”

Danny steps out of the kitchen, looking deeply relaxed, in a rumpled short-sleeve shirt and soft chinos, no tie, hair looking like birds nest in it. He looks… Steve has to take a breath, because it keeps hitting him that he’s allowed to think these things, now, he’s allowed to want, and to need, he’s allowed to wish Danny wasn’t wearing a shirt and that they were upstairs in Steve’s bedroom alone and wonder how soon is too soon to ask Danny to marry him.

(This — asking Danny to marry him — is a foregone conclusion, because Steve knows Danny can’t get down on one knee without limping the whole next day. The question of _when_ is a whole different matter. Steve thinks it’s probably a good idea to do things in some sort of order, since he was the one to mention the three date rule. Sort of proper, maybe. So third date, and soon. Next up; sex, a lot of it. Then they probably need to tell the kids. Actually, they need to tell everyone, as soon as Steve can figure out how to say it out loud. And then Danny needs to move in. Then, more sex, and then, a wedding ring, though since he told Danny literally _ten hours ago_ that he was “all in”, he can probably stop rushing, for a day or two at least.)

“You look like you just remembered you left the iron on,” Danny says, with a grin, one hand in his pocket as he waves at a table with the other. “You’d better not have. I have plans, here, and they don’t involve you rushing home because the place is on fire. In fact, since it’s raining, I think we’ll just take our chances, what do you think.”

Steve feels a smile stretch over his face as he finally, finally puts down the boxes, and approaches the table. It’s set for two, candles in the middle, their shiny new cutlery set out with their new napkins over one of their new tablecloths. Shiny new stemware and a shiny new carafe of ice water, with condensation beading on the glass.

“I thought maybe stealth dating might turn out to be our thing,” Danny says, taking off his apron.

“Uh-huh,” Steve says, suddenly able to speak again. He crosses his arms, and leans on a column, and he can feel the way his face has softened, the way his eyes have warmed the way they only do when he’s looking at Danny. “Stealth dating. Like taking someone on a hike to see some petroglyphs?”

“No, my friend, that’s abuse,” Danny says, but his eyes have widened a little, like he’s never thought of that day as something Steve had planned to be a date. It’s something Steve’s been thinking about a lot. Back then he hadn’t known what this was, what he wanted; only that he wanted more time with Danny, when they weren’t at work. Time alone, time when no one could interrupt, when Steve could have those mad ramblings and tiny victories and crinkly eyes all to himself. He’d wanted to show Danny things that _mattered_ to him. Take him places he’d never taken anyone else. Places he never wanted to take anyone else. (Though lately, he’s been imagining taking Grace and Charlie to these places, wondering if they’d understand what it meant to him.) “And I don’t think you can count it as a date if you end up having to preserve a crime scene. That’s not very romantic, Steve, and I know you were raised by wolves and sailors so I don’t begrudge you not knowing these things. But crime scenes — not dates, my friend. Not dates. They negate the date.”

“Alright,” Steve says, as soberly as he can. “What about a deep-water fishing trip to a secret place my dad used to take me to when I was a kid? Would that count as a date?”

Danny’s expression shutters. The fact that that day had been a disaster in no way detracts from the fact that it had been one of the best of Steve’s life. Listening to Danny needle and complain with a beer in his hand, watching him reel in his first fish — that had been good. Even later. Danny telling him about Billy Selway. Danny taking over when Steve had been too tired to tow the dinghy anymore. Danny always does what needs doing.

“ _Again_.” He makes a ‘what can I do, it’s out of my hands’ sort of gesture. “Crime scene, babe. Not romantic.” He opens his mouth, as if he wants to say something else, but he closes it again, which is interesting because Steve hasn’t seen him do that all that often, in the last eight years.

“Danny?”

Danny shakes his head, and whatever moment of worry had hit him melts away as he opens his arms.

“You’re an idiot, have I told you that yet today? Come here,” Danny says, but he’s the one crossing the room, wrapping his arms around Steve’s neck. Steve pulls him closer, tight, breathing into Danny’s shoulder and relaxing against him. He smells good. Stupid hair products, and herbs all mixed up with the steam of the cooktop, and things Steve can’t identify. “Please don’t pretend that taking me on a helicopter ride to drop a nuclear bomb in the ocean counted as a stealth date.”

“No,” Steve says. “That one was just a day in the life of Steve and Danno. Even if we did get to dance later.”

When they pull apart, Steve stoops to kiss Danny, and grins when he tastes garlic. It’s a wonderful kiss. Not because of the garlic, but because it feels like the domesticity they’ve earned. There’s time for hot, searching, filthy kisses later. This kiss is ‘hi honey, I’m home’, and if Steve has another ten thousand kisses so uncomplicated and casual, he will die a happy man. And a lucky one.

“Sampling the merchandise? What are we having?”

“Sit down, you goon, I’ll be right out. I thought we could have a little bit of wine. There’s a lot to celebrate.” He pauses, letting Steve decide.

Steve nods. It’s been a while. Half a glass won’t send his liver into orbit. Danny’s liver. He presses his hand against his scar, for a moment, and takes a seat, as Danny slips into the kitchen.

“Hurry up, Danno, I’m starving. I’m wasting away. Is this how you treat all your customers?”

Danny returns with garlic bread and a murderous look on his face. “You, my friend, have a reputation for forgetting your wallet, so you don’t count as a customer.” He’s gone again a moment later and back with two plates; rare ahi, mushroom risotto and a side of asparagus with some kind of yellow dressing.

Steve leans in close to the plate. “Wow, Danny. Wow. This smells amazing.”

“It tastes even better. One mouthful of this risotto and we’ll have loyal customers for life.”

Steve doesn’t doubt it. He digs in, and his face must look almost orgasmic, because Danny’s expression is suspended on a knife edge between snickering at him, and just enjoying the moment, letting Steve enjoy the moment.

“I never asked you how you got to be this good a cook. Because no offense to your mother, but she once told me she puts ketchup and shredded cheese on macaroni. And that chicken she cooked that one time was like salted string.”

“You don’t get to say a word about my mother,” Danny replies, jabbing his fork in Steve’s direction. “But I am allowed to admit she is a terrible cook. It doesn’t make a lot of sense, you know? She’s Jewish-Italian, she should be a ninja in the kitchen. But my grandmothers were much better. I learned a little from them, but then, with Rachel, I barely cooked at all; it was just too hard when I could get home at eight at night. So she did all the cooking, and I did all the cleaning. And then when I got out here, and realized I was going to jump into the Pacific Ocean if I ate nothing but _chef boyardee_ and _hungry man_ dinners for the rest of my life, I decided I’d better figure it out. I don’t know. I got better at it than I thought. And I _liked_ it more than I thought I would. Watched a few cooking channel things, bought a couple of books, tried a few things out.”

Steve bitterly resents every meal Danny has ever eaten alone, and resolves that it will never happen again. He doesn’t say it out loud, though, just presses his fork against the ahi, watching the way the flesh flakes so perfectly. 

“See that? Eh?” Danny looks delighted with himself. “See? Italian restaurant in Chinatown? Who cares. This place is gonna be a roaring success and we’re gonna be fat and happy.”

“With the amount of butter you cook with, yeah, we will,” Steve says, but apparently Danny is un-rileable tonight. “Is this even grass-fed?”

“One hundred percent polyester,” Danny says, ludicrously, with far too much glee. “I’m not even sure the FDA has approved it as a foodstuff.”

Steve pretends to frown, but since he can’t wipe the smile off his face, it’s a lost cause.

“And I bet you got the recipe for this risotto off the side of the box,” he says.

“No, I bought it frozen and microwaved it.”

Liar. “No, for real, where’d you get this one?”

“My own invention. You see? Huh? This place will be a roaring success, you just wait. Even without a nice waiting area with hors d’oeuvres.”

As they descend into their long-familiar rhythm of bickering and accusations, Steve feels the last of his doubts about retiring ebb away. He’s missed Danny so badly the last few days, and this, this is what he’s needed to put himself to rights. He watches Danny’s animated face and hands (always slightly worrying with utensils in them) and eats every scrap of his dinner, right down to mopping the last smear of what turned out to be Hollandaise sauce with the last crust of garlic bread.

“You’ll have to roll me out of here,” he says, when he’s done, patting his stomach.

“Oh, well, I guess that means you don’t want dessert.”

“Don’t even joke. What’s dessert? If it’s your mom’s fluffernutter sandwiches, I rescind my invitation to move in.”

Danny’s enraged face as he heads into the kitchen with the plates is reward enough. He comes back with a white ramequin and, worryingly, a blow torch.

“I take back what I said about Clara’s fluffernutter sandwiches. Do we need to take this to the rendition room? Do I need a lawyer? I’m very poor, now, Danny. At least find me a sober public defender.”

“Hilarious,” Danny says, as he puts the ramequin on the table. He blasts a layer of dark brown sugar with the torch, and sits down with a flourish as the flames flicker and die. “Perfect crème brûlée. See? But I’m keeping this on hand in case you’re rude about it.” He passes Steve a dessert spoon, and cracks the crunchy top with his own, scooping the first spoonful into his mouth while the sugar is still warm. “Babe. You’ve got a face. I only mention this because it’s one I haven’t classified yet, and since this has gone remarkably well for a stealth second date, I’m going to need you to use your words.”

“I’m not Charlie,” Steve sulks.

“No. He uses his words without prompting.”

Steve carefully takes a mouthful of the dessert, closing his eyes as the flavors spark on his tongue. “This is the best thing I’ve ever had in my mouth,” he says.

Danny’s answering smile is small, but warm. “I hope not.”

Steve puts his spoon down. “I can’t pretend this doesn’t scare me to death, Danno. Everyone… Catherine, Lynn, uh…” It’s probably pathetic that these are the only two names that come to mind, but they are. “When they left, you know, I was fine. Maybe disappointed for a minute or two, but I was fine.”

“What’s your point?”

Steve takes a breath, elbows on the table, hands loosely clasped in front of him, until Danny reaches over to grasp one. Steve grabs on like it’s a life raft, brings Danny’s hand to his lips.

“You’ve been the cornerstone of my whole life since I came home, Danno. I’ve never had this much to lose before.”

Danny squeezes Steve’s hand tight. “You’re not gonna lose a thing,” he says, with a small, sure nod.

 

 

After they do the dishes, side by side at the sink in the very shiny new kitchen (sadly, the dishwasher hasn’t been connected to the water, yet), and check the doors and windows are locked, they linger outside the door for a moment. The rain has stopped, and the air is cool, the streets glittering. Steve can’t help but notice people peer at their sign as they’re walking past. See? Potential customers already. And there’s plenty of foot traffic for a Monday night. Opening in time for the summer tourist rush is going to turn out to be a good call. Also, he’s definitely standing with his hands in his pockets like he’s waiting for Danny to make the next move.

“We should probably head home,” Danny says. “School night, and all.”

Steve nods. “Good point. Plus, three date rule. Although. This is the fourth at least.”

“Think I was clear about the crime scene proviso.”

“You were clear.”

“Three date rule,” Danny agrees, though he looks slightly regretful.

Steve takes a step closer. “But see, if you move in with me, when we have to go home it doesn’t mean saying goodbye.” He drapes over Danny’s shoulder, looping him in loosely, anticipatory, wanting a kiss which Danny is only too happy to give him. Yeah, it’s public, if you count a handful of gawking tourists. Steve finds he doesn’t mind. It makes him want to walk into the Palace in the morning and tell everyone. Maybe get a t-shirt made up. ‘ _I’m with loud-mouthed and angry_ ’. Or maybe Kamekona still has some of the McDanno ones.

“You retired today. Maybe no more than one life-altering decision a week, just as a general guideline,” Danny says, with the wise smile Steve knows he’s had since he was a keiki. But he settles his hands on Steve’s hips, and slips them around to his back, letting Steve pull him in close.

“Don’t let the spiders in your brain loose, Steven. I want to live with you. I want it all. But it doesn’t all have to happen this week, babe, I know you, plan the op, execute the op, get Danno to file the report. _This is not an op_. It’s the rest of our lives, and we’ve got time to do it right.”

The last kiss lingers, and gets a little hotter, and Steve knows they’re both thinking it: _fuck the three-date rule_. But they say goodnight, instead.

The rest of their lives?

Usually, when Steve thinks about something that huge, and ephemeral, he wants to run. But looking at Danny, touching Danny, thinking about the life they’ve been building together for eight years — it’s not frightening.

“Pick you up at eight?” Steve calls out the window. He doesn’t wait for a reply. “Yeah, I’ll pick you up at eight,” he says, and tears out of the parking lot before Danny can shout something about _driving his own goddamn car for a goddamn change_.

 

 

Steve beeps the horn, as he parks the truck, but then he heads for the door and lets himself in.

“It’s not eight o’clock, Steven,” Danny growls loudly, presumably from the kitchen, where Steve can smell coffee. Good coffee. Danny had insisted that the powdered crap that sustained him for years in Jersey had been fine, but after his first cup of properly brewed Kona, he’d been hooked on the stuff. So much for hating Hawaii.

Steve stands in the doorway and grins at him. He’s allowed to go over there and touch, offer up a good morning kiss, but Danny is grumbling over a bowl of soggy cereal and his hair is a mess and although Steve doesn’t use words like ‘adorable’, he might use it now, if he did.

“Morning, sunshine,” he says, and Danny growls again, combing his hair back from his face. It’s been a bad night for sleep. Steve knows the signs, and clocks the red rims around Danny’s eyes. He wonders if Danny will sleep better when he doesn’t have to sleep alone. Steve takes a mug from the cupboard and pours himself a cup of coffee. There’s butter in the fridge that Danny never touches. He’s never mentioned it, but Steve knows it’s grass-fed, and it’s Steve’s. Steve scrapes off about a tablespoon and stirs it into his coffee, before taking a sip.

A memory slips in. Melissa telling Lynn that Danny hadn’t been able to sleep, one night when they’d slipped off for a dirty weekend Steve envies passionately. Waking up to find Danny had slept on a hammock out the back of their rented house. His smile slips a quarter inch. Maybe it won’t help at all. Or maybe it’s just different. Maybe _they’ll_ be different. That’s the point, right? Steve and Danny, Danny and Steve. They’ve been building this for years and he’s allowed to want it. He finds himself thinking about the papers he still needs Danny to sign, and wonders what sort of sexual favors will get Danny to relax once he knows Steve has gifted him a beachfront property in the best neighborhood on Oahu. He’s going to yell, obviously, but that’s okay, the yelling is always nice. As long as he understands that Steve needs to know that his family will be safe and comfortable if he dies earlier than his intended 95 years.

Danny waves him over, and stands up, giving him a milk-flavored kiss as he heads to the sink to rinse the bowl, and there’s that near-familiar domesticity again. He disappears to the bathroom to brush his teeth and fix his hair.

He tosses Steve the keys as he grabs a couple of files off the kitchen counter.

“Nah.” Steve hands them back, brushing a thumb over Danny’s wrist as he does so. “Give and take, right?”

Danny gives him a delighted smile, and sets the house alarm. “Just so we’re clear, babe, this does not count as a stealth date.”

They’re on the highway when the call comes in, and the mood is shot for the rest of the week.

 

 

“I don’t know why you’re angry!” Steve says, reaching into the back seat to grab his tac vest. “We’re right here, HPD’s probably ten minutes away, Five-Oh even longer. Just get up close,” he says, fastening the velcro and winding down the window.

It speaks volumes, that Danny is actually doing as he’s told, instead of pulling over to the side of the road to yell. He _is_ yelling, though. He’s at risk of the vein at his temple actually popping by the time Steve has his seat belt off and is getting ready to climb out the window.

“Remember how you retired yesterday? Remember how you’ve spent _the last two weeks_ looking for your own replacement, someone with a hell of a lot less injuries and no radiation poisoning, Steve? Huh? Remember that? Oh, my god, you… I don’t even know what to say, I’m speechless, call my ma, she won’t even…”

“Yap yap yap,” Steve shouts back. “Remember how we have a job to do?”

He’s still going, but Steve can’t hear, now he’s crouched on the Camaro’s roof, holding on as Danny gets closer to the truck. At least Danny’s doing what he has to. Getting up close, matching speeds, knowing Steve will do this with or without him and doing everything he can to make it safe. Well, not safe. Saf _er_. Cars all around them are pulling into the other lanes, trying to get out of the path, and Steve makes eye contact with the driver of the truck, in the side mirror. The man’s eyes widen, and he’s about to do something that will make this impossible, so Steve jumps, grabbing onto the roof rack and hoping against hope that it’s properly secure.

The driver’s gun goes off twice, but wherever the bullets go, they’re nowhere near Steve, so he doesn’t particularly care.

In the background, he can hear sirens. HPD are on their way, though they’re still a good distance away. He glances behind him, and things look sort-of slightly safe-ish; people have pulled over (good thing Five-Oh has a reputation these days, and no one is interested in property damage). Danny has his own sirens blaring, now, keeping alongside the truck and probably coming up with a laundry list of things to yell later on.

Steve is looking forward to it.

The driver yanks the wheel, suddenly, and Steve’s left-hand grip is shaken loose. He grunts — his vision has blurred for a split-second, the pain in his right shoulder momentarily blinding, but he ignores it.

There’s a sound. Unexpected. Terrible. Crying.

 _Crying_. Not an adult.

Shit.

He scrabbles in his pocket for his earpiece, and by the time it’s turned only (holy fuck, his shoulder. His fucking shoulder. It can’t be dislocated, or he wouldn’t still be holding on, but he’s definitely done something to it) Danny is already screaming into his own comms.

“HPD says there’s a kid in the back seat! Two years old!”

Steve freezes. In his head, the kid is Charlie, Charlie four years ago, Charlie when he first started smiling and Steve had become silently convinced that he had to be Danny’s — he hadn’t seen too much of him, but he’d felt it in his bones every time Rachel brought him to a barbecue at the house, or Danny offered to babysit.

Why hadn’t they noticed the kid? Because the back windows are tinted, that’s why.

Steve sees red again, and this time it’s not pain. When the truck driver fishtails once more, Steve is ready for it and uses the opportunity to cross more efficiently to the passenger side (okay, he gets knocked over there; gift horse, etc). The window is down, and he slips into place with his gun already in his hand and jammed up against the driver’s jaw before the guy can reach for his piece again.

“Pull over now or I’ll do it for you once your brains are splattered all over that window,” he snarls, and for a second, he can hear the driver’s thoughts, see them in his eyes. The guy is in serious trouble. The man he shot twenty minutes ago in a convenience store probably won’t make it, and on top of murder he’s now looking at carjacking, kidnapping, child endangerment, reckless driving, and honestly, the way Danny knows the law, probably a dozen other charges. And he’d better know Danny isn’t above tacking on a charge of driving above the speed limit. The light goes out in the man’s eyes, and he slows the car, rolling to the stop on the shoulder.

“Okay,” he says. “Okay.”

And then, hilariously, he tries to jump out of the cab, hitting the ground like a hundred-and-eighty pound bag of rice when his face meets Danny’s fist.

Steve has the back door open and is easing the screaming toddler out of his chair, holding him close, shushing him, by the time HPD are pulling up behind them. The kid slows his sobbing and grips so tight Steve feels tears burn his eyes. When one of the uniforms from HPD takes him, promising to get him back to his mom, Steve has the sudden urge to just hold on and refuse to let go.

“There’s an ambulance on the way,” Danny says, flatly, standing probably eight feet away, arms crossed over his chest so the shoulders of his shirt are threatening to just rip themselves out.

“I’m——”

“Don’t. Do not. You are not fine. You’re holding your shoulder like you dislocated it again, and I know you didn’t because if you did it would be sticking out differently, but the fact that I can tell a dislocation from a bad wrench is making me too angry to have this argument with you right now. I should have made you drive. No, because then you probably would have made us change places, and that probably would have killed half of Honolulu in the pileup. Do not speak. I have not given you permission to speak, Steven, and if you do, I’m going to punch you in the shoulder and move back to Jersey.”

Steve tries to argue back, but he sees the barely constrained rage and thinks it might be time for his legendary stoicism. But Danny doesn’t walk away.

“There was a kid in the car,” Steve says, but Danny holds a hand up.

“Shut up. You didn’t know that when you jumped out the window, so don’t even start with me. What part of ‘wait for backup’ is so impossible for you to understand? This isn’t the _’stan_. There is backup. There is a road block less than two miles from here. You know what, I don’t even care. Go to the hospital or don’t. I can’t look at you.”

And he’s gone.

Steve goes uncomplaining to the ambulance. Junior climbs in after him without a word (when did he even get there?) and when he glances over, Tani looks to be attempting to placate Danny by the side of the highway. Danny doesn’t look like he is in the mood to be placated. Which is a pity.

“How are you feeling, sir?” Junior asks. He always reverts to formality when he’s feeling out of his depths. Steve closes his eyes.

“Like I’m going to be sharing a doghouse with Eddie for a year,” he says, and lets the paramedic do her fussing.

 

 

It shouldn’t be possible for this to get worse, but it does.

 

 

Apparently, someone had persuaded Danny to head to the hospital to meet Steve. He arrives shortly after Steve is out of X-ray, looking like he has spent the last hour doing breathing exercises that have calmed him down roughly fifteen percent. Eyes red-rimmed. It’s not even ten o’clock in the morning.

So anyway, the timing is shit, because just as Danny manages to croak out a cursory “Are you okay?” the doctor is there.

“Well, Commander, as we said, it’s not dislocated. But I can’t stress enough that the surgery I recommended last year is now absolutely necessary if you’re to maintain mobility in that shoulder. I understand you have responsibilities, but eventually — no, I phrased that wrong. Sooner than you know, that shoulder is going to make it impossible for you to fulfill your responsibilities at all. The connective tissue is…” she cocks her head. “Paste.”

Steve dares a glance at Danny, who is a fetching shade of purple.

“I don’t need to hold you today. But I need someone to come fit you for a box sling, and you’ll be out of commission until we can do the surgery. With recovery time… you can resume light duties in four weeks, or, frankly, not at all.”

“Could I wait? Do the surgery in a few weeks?”

The doctor knows him much too well.

She shakes her head, and glances at Danny, startling when she sees his expression. She looks away quickly.

“You could. You won’t be able to do much with it in the meantime, for at least a couple of weeks, and really, the sooner the better.”

Steve nods, and makes eye contact with Danny, who looks like he wants to just leave, but is prepared to stay on the off-chance he’ll get a chance to yell soon.

“Doc, listen, I’ll be straight with you, you be straight with me. You understand?” He makes eye contact with Danny again. If he had eye lasers, Steve would be ashes. “I’ve resigned from Five-Oh. I have nineteen days left on the job. I can probably refrain from doing anything life-threatening. Can I do the surgery in four weeks?”

He holds Danny’s gaze until he’s finished speaking.

The doctor relaxes slightly.

“Well. Under those circumstances. Yes, alright, but if you want to enjoy your retirement, I strongly suggest you don’t delay any longer than that.” She turns cautious eyes to Danny again and clears her throat. “It shouldn’t take too long for someone to fit you for a box sling. Uh… I’ll send down the referral papers with a nurse.”

One last glance at Danny and the doctor beats a hasty retreat.

And Steve is supposed to be the scary super-SEAL. If Danny had made that face in Jersey, every boss of every organized crime family would have lined up to confess, just to get out of his way.

Danny sits on a chair, and stands up, and paces, and looks at the chair again.

“Is the kid okay?”

“Back with his mom. He’s not hurt. And at that age, he probably won’t remember, in a couple of weeks,” Danny says, finally taking a seat on the gurney, alongside Steve. “You were supposed to have surgery last year.”

It’s _patently_ not a question.

“We were busy.”

That’s _patently_ not a good reason. Steve adjusts the cool pack on his shoulder and waits for the tirade, but Danny looks worn out. His eyes are unfocused, but moving, processing something in that acutely reactive mind of his. Steve thinks he should probably apologize, but he’s pissed, too. He saved the kid, he stopped the bad guy, Danny knows this. So what if he did it differently to the way HPD might have?

When Danny takes Steve’s hand, it’s a surprise. A nice one, but it also feels a little like putting his hand in an alligator’s mouth. Still, he gives a squeeze, and waits for Danny to find his words. Danny stares sightlessly at a sign about hand washing. Or maybe the other one, about letting the doctor know if you might be pregnant, before getting an X-ray.

“I have this vision,” he says, and then seems to run out of steam. He rubs his eyes with his free hand. Steve waits a few seconds and then bumps Danny’s shoulder.

“If it’s me in the shower, everyone has that vision sooner or later.”

“Don’t do that. Please, would you do me a favor. Don’t do that. Okay, Steve? I’m too pissed at you to even want to laugh. And I’m too tired to be as pissed at you as you deserve.”

Steve can’t tear his eyes away from Danny’s face. Not like that’s an uncommon problem. But he can’t tear his eyes away, right now, and now that the adrenaline has worn off, it’s pretty apparent that the physical stress of the morning isn’t limited to his shoulder. He aches. He aches like an old man. When did he get old?

“I have this vision of… _consequences_. No, okay, I’m not flowering this up for you, I’m not making this easy for you, okay? You don’t deserve it right now. Especially when I think you’re pretty determined to get yourself killed in the next four weeks so this is a moot point. The truth is, I picture you getting a cancer diagnosis, and not telling me, and not getting the surgery, or the chemo, or the radiation, or whatever the fuck you’re supposed to do if you want to survive. Because you don’t care about your life the way I do, and because you never, ever listen to doctors, because you went from a teenager who thought he was immortal — yes, all teenagers do, especially if they’re the captain of the football team and they have an ex-Navy cop for a father — to the Navy, where you were taught to think you were always going to be immortal, for the sake of the country. And then you were handed over immunity and means like they were just more artillery in the immortality bank.”

“I think you’re mixing metaphors.”

“I think I’m doing very well not to punch you in the mouth, so shut up. This thing — us, this thing, this thing where you told my daughter you didn’t think you could handle getting sick and being a burden on me, yes, Steven, she told me, because we’re a family who talks, especially about the important stuff, this thing where _we’re supposed to be building a future together_ , this thing where we’re forty-fucking-one years old and we’re only halfway through life? This thing, where I want the second half of my life to be about sharing your bed and our lives and watching Grace and Charlie grow up and have their own kids, all of that, fuck you if you don’t think about it — _this only works_ if you stop being a complete fucking idiot about your not-immortal body and start treating it like a fucking temple, Steve. I swear to god, you joke about bypass surgery when offered a malasada and put butter in your coffee for mental acuity but you won’t listen to a doctor.” He snorts. “And people call me a contradiction.”

Steve feels his shoulders slump. “I eat malasadas. I like malasadas.” It’s been a lot of years since he made that joke. Danny looks at him like he utterly missed the point. He probably did.

_And._

He wishes it wasn’t so true. He wants to use his words, and maybe he would if he had any. He stares at the hand washing sign. There’s something weird about it, like the artist who drew the graphic had never actually seen a hand, just had one described to them.

“What do you need?” he asks, turning his attention back to Danny, and then letting his gaze fall to the ugly laminate floor, because he feels chastised, he deserves to be chastised.

“About twenty-two and a half hours ago, you told me you were all in,” Danny says.

“And I meant it. Danny, I’m committed, I know I fucked up, but I’m committed, and——”

“If that’s the truth — if that’s the honest truth, the 100% guaranteed uncle Steve promise, then I need you to be as committed to your health as you are to us. Because there’s no line, there. If you’re willing to die sooner rather than later, if you’re willing to do that to yourself, to me, to Grace and Charlie, then this thing is dead in the water, babe. We’re done. Before we even get to the third date.”

Steve closes his eyes, and immediately regrets it, because the second he does, he sees Grace. Calling him selfish. It’s been so hard to parse it. On the one hand — yeah, he gets it, if Danny wouldn’t let Steve be there for him he’d be furious. But it’s different, because Steve is supposed to be the knight in shining armor. He’s supposed to do the rescuing. He loves to prop people up, save them, help them, but there’s no doubt that when he tries to reverse the logic, he can only see himself as a burden.

Maybe they should go back to the marriage therapy. He’s not even joking.

Danny starts to pull his hand away, and Steve squeezes tight, wincing as he feels the pull through his fingers (why the fuck his fingers are sore, he doesn’t even… oh, right).

“Okay,” he says.

Danny is apparently waiting for him to expand on that, but Steve’s throat has closed up. Danny would probably be yelling, by now, if he wasn’t exhausted himself.

“Look, I’m gonna mess up, Danny, I know I am. I’m gonna mess up. For years. I mean, I hope I get to mess up for years. I hope I get that long, I hope you give me that long. I promise. I swear to you. If I have a doctor’s appointment for so much as a stubbed toe, I’ll let you be there with me, and I’ll let you help me make decisions.”

Oh, god. Oh, fuck. It’s too much to promise, and he hasn’t even stopped talking, his mouth is still moving.

“I’ll do what I’m told. I’ll… whatever, we can come up with a safe word for if I start going down some… road, to…”

He tries to gesture, and the pain that shoots through his shoulder almost makes him want to throw up.

But Danny has him. Danny reaches out to support his elbow, so the shoulder doesn’t pull. There has never been a person in the history of everything that could combine abject misery and hope on their face the way Danny Williams can, and Steve makes a promise to himself that if he can help it, he’ll never be responsible for that expression again. He turns his head, and their foreheads meet, and he feels Danny take a deep breath.

“Okay. Thank you very much.” He reaches up to brush his fingers over Steve’s jaw, and Steve closes his eyes.

How is it possible to feel like he’s been robbed blind and given the greatest imaginable gift, in one fell swoop?

They both look up at the same time, as the door is pushed open, and a physical therapist Danny has met a handful of times steps inside. She’s taller than Danny, Asian, with a bright smile that belies the fact that she has probably spent half her professional life having abuse hurled at her by people who desperately need her help. She spends a moment assessing the room, introduces herself as Leilani, and busies herself palpating the swelling around Steve’s shoulder.

Steve feels his eyes tighten.

“He needs some pain relief,” Danny says.

“It says here he refused it,” Leilani answers, with the expression of someone who is used to addicts in recovery refusing pain killers.

“Well, his doctor recommended it, and he has no good reason to refuse. So. Pain relief.”

Leilani grabs a nurse who is passing by and speaks to her in hushed tones. The nurse nods, and disappears.

“So,” Leilani says. “How long have you two been married?”

“We’re not,” Danny says.

“Yet,” Steve adds, with a smug smile, and he can’t even take offense when Danny rolls his eyes.

 


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There is a chasm between agreeing to slow down, and slowing down.

**June 2018**

 

There is negotiation, on Thursday morning. Actual, adult negotiation, in which Danny agrees to let Steve come into the office under the proviso that if they get a call, he’ll stay with Jerry and advise over comms: but will not under any circumstances leave the office. Danny has spent the last two nights at Steve’s house, sleeping on the couch like an idiot (see? Doghouse), but they’ve been talking, he’s been letting Danny help, even though it makes his skin itch, and honestly, between that and Danny’s borderline obsessiveness about _twenty minutes on ice and twenty minutes off it_ , his shoulder does feel a lot better.

It had been a lot easier to agree to stay in the office before Friday afternoon when they got a call out.

“It’s a body,” Steve says, following Danny out to the parking lot. And Reggie. And Tani. And Junior. And Lou. “It’s not as if that’s gonna end in a high speed chase, or a bomb, or——”

“No,” Danny says. “You _agreed_. And things always turn into a high speed chase, my friend. You are a high speed chase _magnet_. You can advise from here. Don’t make me shoot you in the face just to slow you down.”

Steve narrows his eyes, and then stops. “You like my face,” he says, too quietly to be heard.

Reggie, Lou, Tani and Junior are standing in the parking lot, waiting to see if this turns into a fist fight. Junior even takes a step forward, as if he’s prepared to step in. Step in and do what, Steve wonders. Call them both ‘sir’ and be exceedingly polite until they back off?

And then.

And then!

Oh, fuck, and then, Danny puts his hand on the back of Steve’s neck, and pulls him down for a kiss.

For a moment, Steve forgets that there is anyone else there, because it feels for a moment like he’s _out_ of the doghouse. And yeah, he’s a mess, and he is stupid with relationships, and he is in over his head and all of the other things but fuck, it’s Danny, Danny’s mouth, Danny’s hand, no, both of Danny’s hands because the other is on his hip, so warm. So fucking warm, and careful, squeezing him for a moment.

The burst of applause snaps Steve out of his reverie, and he tenses up for a moment, and turns his head. Tani and Junior high five, and Reggie smiles, and shakes his head, as he and Junior head for Lou’s car. Giving Danny and Steve a moment. Lou waves over his shoulder and joins them.

“So now they know,” Steve says, slightly awkward, slightly tight.

“You’re an idiot. And I say that in the most fond way, because that is a Jersey endearment. But you, my friend, my love, are an idiot, and _everyone_ knows. About us. Everyone’s known for a long time. Longer than you. Now, go inside, get ready to run whatever we need you to run, and eat something deep fried for lunch. I’ll call you as soon as I can.”

And Danny’s eyes are soft, and lit up, and Steve is so fucking grateful that he exists. So grateful that for a second he wants to go back eight years and kiss Danny in front of the petroglyphs, and not waste all these years on uncertainty and bursts of light when he could have been making an actual life.

“Don’t get shot,” he calls, and watches as Danny swings into the front seat of Tani’s car.

 

 

“I know, man,” Jerry says, pushing his sticky fingers into a bag full of trail mix. “I get it. It’s hard to stay behind. But really, and I say this with the utmost respect for your expertise and your contributions, but this is the heart of Five-Oh. Right here…” he spreads his arms, encompassing the bullpen. “This is where the real magic happens.”

There’s no questioning Jerry’s contribution to the task force. But there’s something about the way he says that that reminds Steve of a kid he’d known in high school, who’d told him that lighting designers were the real stars of any theater production.

“You’re right, Jerry,” he says, trying not to sound dejected, and digging his fingertips into the knots of pain around his shoulder.

Maybe, before he leaves, Steve will find a way to explain why he didn’t give Jerry a badge earlier. Truth is, Jerry had to earn it, and had to know he’d earned it. He’d walked in with the smarts, with an encyclopedic knowledge of the arcane, and with the capacity to be a damn fine investigator. But only the capacity. The harder he’d worked, the more he’d coveted a badge, the better he’d become. And now, Steve knows he’ll be an asset for…

Well. Decades, potentially. Much longer than Steve, whose cells are sitting and waiting for a time bomb to take them from functional to catastrophic.

The edge of panic creeps in, the feeling that he really fucking _does not know how to retire_.

“Call me when they’re there,” he says, retreating. “I have to make a phone call.”

 

 

It had taken a long time for Steve to really feel okay talking about anything personal with Chin, but for years now, whenever he can’t talk to Danny, Chin has been Steve’s guy. Maybe since Malia, since those quiet coffees after midnight. Since Chin found voice to say he didn’t think he could keep going, and Steve had promised he could, and that he wasn’t alone. He’s not even sure why, but he suspects it is because as he flattened all of Chin’s records, he’d had a terrible, terrible crush, that only got worse over time.

“Chin, hey. Is this a good time?” He glances at the clock.

“ _Brah_ ,” Chin answers. “For you, any time is a good time, unless I’m getting shot at. I’ve been meaning to call.”

“Yeah?”

“Abby’s pregnant. With twins. We’re almost at thirteen weeks, but I wanted the _ohana_ to know before anyone else.”

Steve freezes, and then a grin stretches over his face. He can see Abby with a belly the size of a pumpkin, still wandering around and barking orders. Sarah doting over her tiny siblings.

Children. Jesus, fuck, Steve had almost missed out. Grace and Charlie float through his head. Charlie and his easy affection and delighted, shy smiles, Grace holding a baseball bat years ago and taking selfies with him on the beach now she’s most of the way to being a woman. Charlie with the chicken pox, Grace telling him he’s selfish.

Okay. That took a turn.

“The second she gives birth, we’ll be on our way to San Fran for a visit,” Steve says, snapping out of it. “Congratulations, Chin. I don’t even know what to say, man, I’m so happy for you. Twins. And it’s all going well?”

“Better than that, brah. Thanks. Look, I don’t want to hurry you, but I’ve got a meeting in fifteen with the DEA. Everything okay over there?”

The DEA.

Steve feels a pang; Chin is in the thick of it, Kono is in the thick of it, and he’s retiring. Guilt slams through him like a train.

“Brah, I really just wanted to say _aloha_.” Like a fucking coward, “But Jerry’s gesturing like he found Area 59, so I’ll call later in the week. Give my love to Abby.”

And he ends the call.

“What have we got, Jerry?” he asks, striding into the bullpen like he didn’t make that up. Jerry looks at him, baffled.

“Nothing. I’m gonna get a cup of coffee. You want? They won’t even get there for another twenty minutes or so.”

Steve feels his skin itch, and shakes his head. “I’ll be in my office,” he says, trying to conceal his misery, and he slinks away.

 

 

It’s a straightforward case. Danny might as well be holding his hand, he’s so careful to show Steve everything they’re seeing. A bank manager, shot in the head, yeah, that’s bad, and it’s bad that his brother-in-law is wanted for money laundering, and maybe there’s a connection; but he was also robbed, so it’s just as possible that it was nothing but a straightforward mugging. Steve rolls his shoulder and flinches.

“Danny says I should give you these,” Jerry says, handing over two tablets.

“Thanks, I’ll take them in a bit,” he says, putting the tablets on the edge of the computer desk. “Danny, show me the——”

Comms go down.

Steve stands straighter, in a panic, but when he turns to Jerry, Jerry has the pills in his hand again.

“Sorry, Commander,” he says. “He was pretty clear on the whole… taking your tablets thing. Hey, is it so bad? If someone loved me enough to want to look after me like that, I’d be so happy I’d just let them.” His face shutters, for a moment. “I’d be happy, is all I’m saying. It’s not like you can drive. Maybe you could just take them.”

Jerry is lonely. It shouldn’t have taken Steve this long to realize that.

Steve takes the tablets, and washes them down with the cooling remains of his green tea, and the comms come up instantly. He can deal with the rest later.

“I think Danny might have read some Pavlov. _Anywho_ , look at that blood spatter. No way was he standing upright when he got shot. The angle’s weird. Is Eric on his way over there? Or Charlie?”

Steve wants to scowl, complain, lock himself in his office. But he goes for humor. “Remember when Eric was a little punk Danny was tempted to hang by his ankles in the rendition room until he promised to be good?”

Jerry barks a laugh. “Yeah, he’s come a long way. You know why, though?”

Steve shakes his head. “No clue. I guess people find their niche. There’s no one in that office who’s as thorough at collecting evidence. I think it’s a Williams thing. They like their puzzles.”

He’s suddenly caught by the memory of a rainy weekend, three years ago, when Grace had stayed with him because Danny was in Jersey and Rachel was in Vegas. They’d gone out shopping for groceries and wound up buying a thousand-piece jigsaw puzzle, and spent the whole weekend putting it together. Maybe in a few years, Charlie could do the same puzzle with him. Complete the selfie collection.

Fuck, he needs to live for long enough so that he can see Charlie finish a puzzle. Steve grits his teeth. Fine. Pain killers. Chemo. Whatever he needs to do. He’ll do it. He only wishes he could find a way to jump-start waking up with Danny every morning, because now that it’s an option, he needs it like he needs air.

“Danny inspires people to be their best,” Jerry says. “I know he did that for me. When I met you guys, I kind of wanted to _be_ **_you_**. But then every time Danny encouraged me, it made me want to… do better. Be myself, but better. Get out of mom’s basement and impress someone. I think it’s because he doesn’t know how good he is.”

Steve is rigid, free hand on the computer table, his other clutching the edge of the sling. Yes. He gets this. He understands this. The desire to impress Danny Williams hit him about three hours after the Governor swore him in, and it hasn’t gone away. Hasn’t faded. If anything, it only gets stronger. So, okay, he can listen to his doctors. He can be strong and vulnerable at the same time. He can love Gracie and Charlie and he can curl up with Danny at night.

“Listen Jerry, there’s someone out there for you. Okay?”

The words escape Steve’s lips before he’s quite anticipating them.

“I hope so,” Jerry says.

A few minutes later, Steve and Jerry are running license plates, and checking over security footage from two ATMs, two patrol cars, and four different hotels. Visibility is bad, but they find three license plates to follow up, and a couple of hours later, Fong and Eric have an interesting theory about the blood spatter. It’s enough for a very good start.

 

 

It’s unbelievably painful and difficult, sitting at home while Danny and Reggie are interrogating subjects in the rendition room. Steve slumps in front of the television, and hops from channel to channel, hoping to find something, anything, that will catch his attention, but there’s nothing. And he hates the stupid box sling. And his stupid shoulder. When the phone rings, he grabs it. He’d talk the ear off a telemarketer, if he had a chance.

“McGarrett,” he says, eyes still blurring on the television.

“Don’t tell me you deleted my number, brah, I’m hurt,” Chin says.

“Nope,” Steve says. “Too stoned to read the screen. I’m having pain killers forced down my throat. And I’m at home, at eight o’clock on a Friday night, alone, while the team interrogates a guy who collects coins and sells guns on the gray market. Allegedly. How are the twins?”

“Same as they were a few hours ago. No, that’s not true. Right now, my beautiful fiancée is feeding them chocolate fudge ice cream, so they’re even better.”

“Fiancée? _Mahalo_! Way to bury the lead!” Steve sits up straight, grinning like an idiot.

“We decided not to tie the knot until the twins are old enough to know what’s going on. But thank you, brah.”

“So how’s your task force?”

“Cute, McGarrett. Did I ever tell you that you’re the worst liar I ever met? You cut the conversation short this morning, but if you think I don’t know your urgent voice, you’re very much mistaken. Which of course means I know your ‘not urgent, but I’m bolting’ voice. I’m home, Abby is reading to Sarah and they’re eating ice cream, I have a glass of wine in my hand and you need to tell me what’s going on in your head.”

Steve leans back against the couch, and flinches.

“Nothing, really,” he says.

“Nothing,” Chin deadpans.

And then it’s like the floodgates are open. Nothing, really, except _on Monday I tended my resignation_ , and _I’m in love with Danny_ , and _we’re following strict third-date protocols despite the fact that we’ve slept together at least a dozen times_ , and _god, I love his kids_ , and _Gracie is terrifyingly smart_ , and _some nights I dream that I am full of tumors and I wake up screaming_.

Chin is silent for a long time, and Steve contemplates hanging up, and blocking his number.

“I’m glad for you and Danny,” he says, in his calmest voice. This is _shit_. He shouldn’t be dumping on Chin. He’s about to say so, and hang up, but he doesn’t. “If there are any two people in the world I’d want to be happy, and safe… brah. It’s you two. Make sure you plan a long engagement, alright? Getting all five of us out there will take planning.”

“I never said we were getting married,” Steve barks. “He hasn’t even agreed to move in, yet. We’re not even on date three and I’m in the doghouse.”

“You probably deserve the doghouse. Listen, you know my cousin Sisa?”

Steve flicks through memories of a dozen Kelly-Kalakaua events, and summons the image of a rotund, cheerful woman with a lot of jewelry, dancing at Kono’s wedding. Beautiful, glossy hair, friendly and engaging.

“Yeah. She has a shop in Maui?”

“I’ll send you her details. She can help you out with a ring. And I know I can’t see your face right now, but I can see your face right now. And I know you, Steve. I know you better than you’re probably happy with. I’m prepared to bet that right now, on an hourly basis, you consider calling this off, and I’m telling you right now that if you do it, you’ll regret it for the rest of your life. And while I’m being honest?”

It takes Steve a moment to realize Chin is asking for permission to go on. He grunts his irritated, intrigued acquiescence.

“Your life will be a lot longer with Danny by your side, Steve.”

Steve feels his face burn, and he is grateful he’s alone in the house. He’s also glad he can’t see Chin’s kind, wise face.

“I don’t know how to do this,” he admits, when he can.

“No one knows how to do this,” Chin says, gently. “You learn to love him. You teach him how to love you. Steve… I knew your dad. I know it’s not something we talk about a lot, but I can tell you without a shadow of doubt that if he was here, once he adjusted to the idea, he’d tell you this: nothing worth doing is easy, and nothing is easy on your own, and you and Danny need each other. Like the tides need the moon.”

Steve freezes again, imagining the tide, the moon above, the ebb and flow. He wishes it wasn’t such a resonant image, but he suddenly needs to be ankle-deep in the water.

“I love you, Steve, and I love Danny, and if you think it was ever a secret that the two of you love each other, you’re worse than blind. Let it happen. Let him lead, when you can’t, and lead when you can. Abby and I wouldn’t have made it if we didn’t follow that general plot ourselves.”

It shouldn’t be shocking, the idea that other people don’t know exactly what to do. But it makes a perverse kind of sense.

“DADT fucked me up,” Steve says. Or maybe barks. He holds so much resentment about it, the mandate to shut down, follow the herd. It needs to be said. Steve was twenty-two by the time he realized that he was attracted to men more often than women, and it was probably eight seconds later that he shut it down, out of the sheer terror that he’d end up with a dishonorable discharge and spend his life bagging groceries and living in his car. And since he was still attracted to women, he had followed the path of least resistance. That had been easy.

The yearning, that hadn’t been too bad, either. Until Danny Fucking Williams had punched him in the jaw and swaggered off, muttering.

He almost forgets that Chin can’t hear or read his thoughts, but it only takes a moment to get back on track.

“DADT _was_ fucked up. But it’s long been repealed, Steve. Not to mention, you got a medical discharge after your transplant. You remember? When Danny gave you _half his liver_? I can go into the specifics of how he nearly——”

“No, don’t. And don’t pretend that the repeal means that all my team is gonna want to show up at my wedding and toss rice.”

“I hope not. It’s bad for birds. Swells up in their stomachs. It’s much better to punch confetti out of leaves.”

Wow, fuck. Steve didn’t know that. He frowns. No rice? Also, he’s been to two weddings in his entire life, and _shut the fuck up, brain_ , Danny hasn’t even really agreed to move in. But leaf confetti sounds… pretty.

Steve wishes he wasn’t so stoned. “I just want to be with him,” he says, adjusting himself from really fucking uncomfortable to just generally fucking uncomfortable.

“That, my friend, is all you need for the foundation to a beautiful relationship.”

“You’re an asshole,” Steve says. “I love you. Thank you. Kiss Abby and Sarah for me. I need to sleep.”

 

 

Steve wakes eight times, in the night, ears straining. It’s not until after five that he remembers that Danny has the kids. He feels a well of dread open. There’s a standing agreement, unspoken, that he is a part of kid weekends, even when Grace takes off to spend most of it with her friends. But Danny hasn’t called, hasn’t sent a message, and Steve appears to be on his own.

 

 

So it’s awesome, really. When he drags his ass out of bed on Saturday morning to the smell of an omelet and fresh brewed coffee. He sees Grace and Charlie by the beach before he even lays eyes on Danny in the kitchen.

“I’d say something witty,” Danny says, with a grin. “Maybe sleeping beauty related. But I still hate the buzz cut, so. Good morning. Grace has abandoned her snit, at least for a few hours, Charlie is somehow under the impression that we’re going to the aquarium, and I love you. So sit down, shut up, and take your damn pills.”

God. It’s all he needs. Steve gets right up behind Danny and kisses his neck, and Danny lets out a murmur that is somehow both perfectly clean, and utterly obscene, at the exact same time.

“Move in with me,” Steve says, wrapping his unrestricted arm around Danny’s waist.

“Keep asking, babe. I’ll say yes when I’m ready.”

“Really?”

“Really. Sit down. Drink your coffee. Why are you being difficult?”

“Only way I know how to be,” Steve says, cheerfully.

 

 

“Otter. Otter!” Charlie shrieks. It’s sort of a legend. That at the Waikiki Aquarium there is an otter who will sniff your fingers, even lick them. But apparently, it’s true, and Grace and Danny have Charlie firmly in their grasp, but the lone friendly otter is sniffing his fingers and Steve is standing there with his phone taking a photograph every second or two. It’s a glorious day.

Until Danny's phone rings.

Danny is pacing, a few dozen feet from the café where they've been enjoying a snack. Steve is trying to pay attention to his sandwich, Grace is trying to pay attention to her burger, and Charlie has every bit of his attention focussed on his chicken nuggets.

“Okay,” Danny says, and glances at Steve’s sling. Steve is more than willing to set fire to it, as he stands up. “Okay. Reggie, Tani and Lou are on their way to a situation.” Danny runs his fingers through his hair. “They need me.”

Danny asks Grace to keep hold of her brother and pulls Steve aside.

“Rachel and Stan are in San Francisco,” he says. Steve nods. “No, don’t nod. Tell me you will not let your eyes drift from our kids until I call you. Do not fuck with me, Steven.”

Steve swallows.

“Our kids?”

“You say that like I made some kind of a slip. I didn’t. Grace and Charlie have a mom and three dads. And only two of those four parents have the actual capacity to keep them safe, and I swear to god, Steven, if you mess up your end of the deal by showing up at the crime scene——”

Or, Danny could stay?

Steve’s shoulder throbs almost like a voice. _Don’t be a fucking idiot_ , it says.

“Call me when you can,” Steve says. “Don’t get shot.”

 

 

Steve and Grace keep everything calm. They settle Charlie into bed and take turns making voices and faces until Charlie stops giggling and his face slackens. Leaving his room doesn’t seem to be on the cards, so Grace spoons Charlie from behind and Steve stares at the ceiling.

It’s so difficult to be useless.

No, but. He’s not useless. He’s caring for Grace and Charlie. He pushes the thought away and replaces it with his own.

“Two dates, huh,” Grace says.

Steve guffaws. They don’t say another word, but Grace slips out from behind Charlie’s sleeping body, and she and Steve sneak out of the room and meet up on the couch. She tucks herself under his arm, and they stay quiet. At some point they’re going to need to turn on the television or something, anything to distract them from what Danny might be doing, but for now, it feels okay.

“Are we still being honest with each other?” Grace asks. Steve kisses her temple.

“Always.”

“Do you think you and Danno will get married?”

“You know, Danny told me once he’d never get married again.” Steve shrugs. Honestly, it hurts, but it doesn’t change the fact that he’ll ask.

Grace reaches for the remote control, and Steve is instantly plunged back into teenage soap opera hell. Lucky he can’t focus. “Something you should know,” she says. “Danno and I talk to each other. We’re honest. Sometimes he gets evasive, but he never lies to me. And I know him well enough to know when he’s not telling me everything.”

Steve stares at the screen.

“Are you telling me that I don’t know something I need to know?” he asks.

“No,” she answers. “I’m telling you that if you ever get the need to be evasive, you’re screwed. He’ll know, I’ll know. It’s time you got with the program. Do you want to marry Danno?”

Steve grins. Fuck it. He has spent too long not letting himself picturing that, and thanks to Chin fucking Ho fucking Kelly, he can’t get the idea out of his mind. “Yeah. That’s my plan. You got any tips for me getting a yes instead of a three-week-long rant?”

Grace grins, dimples popping. “Keep it simple. Also, I can’t call you uncle Steve anymore.”

Steve feels his heart sink.

“You can call me anything you want,” he promises, and Grace nods.

 

 

Steve can’t sleep.

He spends a long time on the edge of the beach, staring, trying to figure out how not to feel useless, cursing his shoulder, and then he stretches out on the hammock over the lanai and stares out over the lawn until he nods off.

He’s barely aware of the moment when Grace lifts Charlie up into the hammock, and Charlie stretches out alongside him. He does stretch an arm around Grace when she joins them a minute later, but he’s asleep again before he can give it the required amount of thought. He takes Charlie’s hand, and kisses Grace’s temple, and then he’s out.

When he wakes, an hour later, it’s with a head full of thoughts. About Charlie, about Grace, about his unequivocal sense of parenthood. He shouldn’t feel this way about them, but as they curl up against him in the tepid breeze, he can’t pretend he doesn’t feel like he’s curled up with his kids.

So that’s another thing. That’s the thing. The _Steve and Danny_ thing.

The _thing_ is, it isn’t always sex. Sometimes, when their boundaries blur, it’s family.

 

 

**November 2016**

 

“Grace,” Steve had barked. The decorations were pretty, but Steve barely gave them a thought. “Grace Williams. Where is she?”

There had always been a direct line. Danno loved Grace, Steve loved Grace, and Danno would never be okay if Grace wasn’t.

“Uncle Steve,” Grace had shouted, throwing herself into his arms. Fuck. Alive, safe, unharmed. He’d gathered her up and held her tightly. And then he’d turned to Danny, with one arm stretched out. Unwilling to let go of Grace yet, and she was apparently unwilling to let go of him.

“What, no hug?” he’d asked, eyes on Danny’s.

Steve would never forget. “I’ll give you a hug, a kiss, pick a base,” he’d said, and if anyone had been paying attention, they would have noticed that the hug was very, very far from platonic. That the exit from the ballroom with Grace looked like nothing more or less than a devoted pair of parents escorting a beloved child from a disaster area.

Steve had bitten down his envy when Danny left with Lou. But no. It made sense. Will and Grace. Grace and Will. Lou and Danny needed time to talk. But Steve had been at home, pacing, kicking himself for leaving them outside of his direct view. Around midnight, he’d grabbed his phone, before even registering that it had rung.

“Are they okay?” he barked, in lieu of a greeting.

Danny grunted.

They sat on either side of a silent phone line.

“I was so scared,” Steve said, too honest. “You, Grace…” he was embarrassed, admitting to such a weak emotion. But it was blurted. It was out. He couldn’t take it back.

“Hey, hey. You called for her, first. You have to know how much that matters. You called for her before you called for me. You have to know that she is my first priority. Thank you, Steve.”

Steve lay back and stared at the dark ceiling.

“This doesn’t exonerate you. You tried to claim credit for my sandwiches, you asshole, and I plan to burn down your house.”

Steve laughed.

“Okay, now I plan to shoot you in the face.”

“Everyone knew you organized the sandwiches. Everyone wished you were there. So. Grace and Will? Wow.”

“Don’t. Shut up. Also, Lou gave Will a safe sex speech yesterday, so I need you to help me bury his body tomorrow. If you want to keep claiming best friend status, you’ll do it.”

“No problem. But you have to deal with Renee afterward.”

“She looked beautiful,” Steve said when his quiet snickering had died down. “She’s just grown up so fast.”

“I tried to talk her out of that. They say if you make a kid sleep in a drawer they stop growing taller, but it didn’t work. Next thing you know, I’ll be getting Charlie fitted for a suit, for his own winter formal.”

“Naw, Danny, he won’t grow up. He’s a lot more obedient than Grace.”

They were silent a while, and if Steve had been able to be honest with himself, he would have told Danny that he wished he’d picked a different base.

“I love you,” he said, instead.

“I love you, too. Go to sleep. You need to pick me up in the morning.”

“See you at seven,” Steve said before he ended the call.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's hard to quantify progress, especially when it goes back and forth. Also, let's talk about last Christmas.

**June 2018**

 

It might be the most beautiful thing that Danny has ever seen.

He should have been back hours ago, but he just couldn’t make it; Steve’s injury hasn’t exactly left them a man short, with Reggie already slotting in so well, but Danny can’t stay in and help out and leave Lou and the kids to manage without him. So. Steve McGarrett, babysitter.

Shit, no. Not babysitter. Danny stands with his hands in his pockets and looks at them, the three of them stretched out on a hammock full of soft cushions, early on a Sunday morning, and he falls in love with his life all over again.

He takes a photo. Maybe he’ll show them, sometime. Steve in a pair of lurid boardies and a tank, Grace in a t-shirt and shorts, and Charlie in his bear footie pajamas because he won’t be convinced he’d be more comfortable in something lighter, while the weather is this hot. Danny drags a hand over his face, and slinks inside to make coffee.

Maybe it’s the scent that wakes her and maybe it’s the smell. But Danny turns to find his elegant daughter slinking quietly inside and sliding the back door closed behind her. Danny pours her a cup of coffee, adds a sugar cube and some creamer, and stirs it up, near silently.

“I don’t know anyone except you who likes their coffee different every time,” Grace says, leaning over the counter. She’s got that face. Thinkative.

“I’m an enigma.” Danny leans against the sink. “What are you thinking about, monkey?”

She shrugs. “Just thinking about you and Steve.”

Danny gives her a small smile, and nods. “Are you still okay with it? Because you know, Grace, if you’re not, then…”

“Okay, stop. I am okay with it, Danno, I’m more than okay with it. My friends have been shipping you since the winter formal.”

“Shipping?”

“Don’t worry about it.” She smiles, sly, and Danny makes a mental note to look that up.

They’re silent another long moment.

“It’s too weird, calling him uncle Steve, now.”

Danny’s heart clenches. “I think you can call him whatever feels right, Grace. It’s up to you. He wants you to be happy and comfortable and so do I. You think we should make pancakes while those two losers are snoozing the day away?”

Grace nods. It’s odd. She should be complaining right now about plans with her friends, about Danny suffocating her, about not being a kid anymore, but she’s quiet, moody, still thinking. Maddeningly opaque.

“Are you going to get married?”

Danny coughs up half a mouthful of coffee. She’s not asking the way Charlie would. She’s asking as a young adult, trying to make sense of a change in her life that she wants, but that she’s still trying to wrap her head around. At least, Danny thinks she wants it. Fuck, maybe he missed something. He carries his cup to the kitchen island, and rests his elbows on the sleekly oiled wood, leaning across it until he’s a foot from Grace’s beautiful face.

“You’re the most important thing in the world to me,” he says, quietly. “You and Charlie. If there’s anything you’re not comfortable with, you only need to say it.”

“Why is it you think I object to things all the time? I mean, you yell at Steve, call him an idiot, threaten to shoot him and you still love him.” Teenage snit face engaged.

“Okay, okay,” Danny says, reaching into the pantry, looking for pancake ingredients. “You just need to know you’ve got a say, here. You can call him whatever you want. My vote is for poopy stink head.”

Grace rolls her eyes. “Don’t let Charlie hear you say that, or he’ll never forget it.” She pulls the mixing bowl across the island and starts measuring flour.

“Alright, you pick. You know, I think he’d be fine if you just called him Steve. It doesn’t have to be a big deal, Grace. I know there’s been a lot of changes, all at the same time. I didn’t mean it to be that way.”

Grace shrugs. “I’m a child of the twenty-first century. There’s no such thing as a normal family anymore. I’m adaptable. And resilient.”

Danny feels a pang of guilt.

“I have a mom, and a step-Stan… sometimes. And a Danno.” She shrugs. “There’s an opening for plain old _dad_.”

Danny’s hands clench on the sugar bag. He and Grace look at each other; him with no idea how to feel, her with no idea how he does feel. It’s crazy, and it’s not. Because Steve has been around for half of Grace’s life, and they love each other, and though Danny has to claim he loves her just a little bit more, he’s not even sure if it’s true.

“I think he’d be very honored by that. But you and Steve know how to talk to each other, which by the way, makes me very happy. You talk to him about it when you feel right doing it. Okay, there’s no rush, there’s no pressure, I’m not gonna tell him we had this talk. You’re sixteen, you’re a young woman, you have your own mind, and it’s a beautiful mind. You talk to him about it.”

“When I’m ready.”

For a second, she’s not sixteen. She’s eight. She’s telling Steve that Danny talks about him all the time, at a football game at Kukui high, with gaps in her smile and eyes bigger than her belly.

Grace is almost as tall as Danny is, now, and she’s a fierce hugger. It’s definitely a Williams thing. Rachel’s family was never this open with their affections. He kisses her hair, and they return to the pancakes. By the time Steve and Charlie wander in, the kitchen smells like blueberries and melted chocolate.

Danny and Steve haven’t really talked about PDA. And Grace is in the loop, yes, but Charlie… is he too young to understand? Not the guy-guy thing, but just generally. And does it matter, because he loves Steve, and pancakes, and Charlie understands love because he’s surrounded by it, and full of it. So when Steve wraps his good arm around Danny’s body and kisses him squarely on the mouth, eyes all warm and doe and darker than usual, Danny just kisses him back.

Charlie giggles. But then, Charlie giggles at everything.

“Do you and Uncle Steve kiss now?” he asks.

“Yeah, we do,” Steve replies, with a sleepy smile, pulling Danny close. Steve is a giraffe, and an octopus, and utterly overwhelming, and there is no one in Danny’s forty-one years who has ever looked at him with the degree of affection Steve has leveled at him just now.

“I love you,” Steve says, cocking his head.

“I love you, too, idiot, now get off my elbow before these pancakes burn,” Danny says, grinning widely.

 

 

Of course, life conspires. Danny takes Charlie and Grace back to Rachel’s and heads home to do banal things like clean and do laundry, and, alright, surreptitiously make up a list of the furniture that came with the house, the furniture he’s prepared to leave, and the furniture that is _absolutely being moved to Piikoi drive, McGarrett, and shut up_. It’s stupid, because it’s too fast, and Steve will notice that at some point. Throw on the brakes. It’s not like Danny hasn’t seen him do it before.

On the other hand, Danny has two months left on his lease, and Steve is due shoulder surgery in three weeks.

It’s been a beautiful house to live in, but it stopped feeling like home the moment Steve said he was going to retire. If Danny closes his eyes, he can feel Steve’s face pressed against his stomach. The quiet sigh when Danny brushed his hand over that sorry excuse for hair.

Danny fetches a pile of boxes from the garage, and while the washing machine runs, he starts to pack. It’s like looking his neurosis right in the eyes, flipping it the bird and saying _fuck you_.

 

 

When Steve calls, a touch after dusk, Danny is sweating and dirty and exhausted, and honestly? He feels good.

“If you’re calling because you need your grapes peeled, Steven, you’re shit out of luck. Call Junior, he’s a suckass.”

Steve snorts. “Fuck off, Daniel. I’m a Navy SEAL. I stare at grapes and they peel themselves.”

“No, you’re not, see, because of a little thing called a medical discharge, courtesy of me, who gave you half a liver.”

“This again. I’m gonna have to listen to this for the rest of my life.”

“You’d better count on it.” Danny feels his mouth curve into a smile, and he can almost hear Steve doing the same, eight miles away. Danny stretches out on the sofa, bare toes waggling in the last vestiges of sunlight.

“I was thinking about our third date,” Steve says.

“Me too. I was thinking, since you’re all butterfly with a broken wing, and therefore not up to much, you have carte blanche to take me to a crime scene. But it’s your turn, babe, I don’t wanna influence you too much.”

Steve snorts. “I’ll call HPD and ask if they’ve got something special for us. Maybe something with a view.”

“Sounds great.” Danny slips a hand under the waistband of his shorts, almost without thinking.

There’s a long, comfortable silence.

“I swim,” Steve says. No. He _barks_ it. Which is funny, as it’s neither news nor worthy of being shouted about.

“You do?” Danny mocks. “That’s it, I’m alerting the media. Local ex-SEAL Hawaiian pseudo-native swims.”

“I mean. I get up early. I swim, or I run. I don’t know why I have to. Chasing the last of the demons away, I guess. I get nightmares, and I think in the interests of full disclosure, you need to know that. And I’m sorry that I ever let you wake up alone.”

Danny sits up, leaning against the arm of the couch.

“In polite society, you either apologize or you make excuses. I’m getting mixed messages, babe.”

“Okay. Okay.” Steve says. “Okay, just.” Danny closes his eyes. “I can do better. I want to.”

“I know you can,” Danny says. “I need sleep. G’night, babe. I love you.”

 

 

Maybe he conjured it out of thin air; maybe he was reminded, and his brain supplied the rest. But in that instant, Danny was transported back to Christmas Eve, and for a long moment, he was lost in it.

 

 

**December 2017**

 

“I was hungry.” Only Steven McGarrett would think it was acceptable to eat Santa’s cookies because only Steven McGarrett had failed to evolve much past his Neanderthal roots and also had no manners, and a deep-seated fear that someone else might eat his food. Jesus Christ, Danny was lucky Steve didn’t bare his teeth on a daily basis. Also, it’s adorably transparent that Steve has showed up eating cookies and sprawling on Danny’s couch. It’s pity he missed the story, although Danny is pretty sure he would have done a lot of extremely annoying correcting on the fly, and ruined the whole damn thing.

“And you just cheerfully spread your cooties over them all so I wouldn’t have one. I’ve got your number. You’ve licked food and put it in the fridge with a note that says ‘I licked this’. You have, you animal. Don’t make that appalled face at me.”

Danny had put his feet up on the coffee table and leaned back comfortably, closing his eyes. Much as he’d been resisting taking the pain killers, he had taken them tonight, and between that and Charlie his energy was sapped.

“I have done that.” Steve laughed and shoved another cookie into his ridiculous mouth. “But in my defense, I’ve spent most of my life living with large numbers of men, and you do what you have to to protect your food. And I only touched the bottom one, what are you talking about.”

Danny shook a fist at hi and headed into the kitchen to fetch some more. And a couple of mugs of eggnog.

“Yours is virgin,” he said, handing a mug to Steve.

“And now you’re ruining Christmas. I can’t even have a little eggnog?” But he’d smiled as he sipped it, snagging a couple more cookies and leaning against the back of the couch. “Doesn’t taste half bad.”

“We’ll do eggnog as a Christmas special next year.”

Steve froze, for a moment, and blinked owlishly at him, as if it hadn’t occurred to him that this time next year the restaurant would have been open for months. And then he grinned.

“Christmas Day, we’ll do a big party for the _ohana_ ,” he said, with a nod, and took another sip of his drink.

They were sitting closer together than they needed to; Danny was a tactile creature by nature, and he knew it, but once Steve had got the hang of being a human being again he’d been much the same way, especially when it came to Danny. He slung his arm across the back of the couch and reached for the remote control. Christmas movies on every channel. Danny didn’t really care what they watched, or if they watched anything at all, just happy to be sitting there with Charlie sleeping in the next room, Steve munching happily on his cookies… Grace was due home, soon, and then it would be time to get some sleep before a day of chaos.

Danny yawned and became suddenly aware that Steve was staring at him.

“That’s creepy,” he said, without turning.

“It’s not creepy.”

“It’s definitely creepy, babe. Why are you staring at me?”

“I’m not staring at you, I’m looking at you.”

“Okay, po _tay_ to po _tah_ to, why are you _looking_ at me?” Because Steve was still staring, with a contented smile on his face and big tray owl eyes blinking sleepily.

“’Cause I like looking at you, Danno.”

Danny had tried not to sigh, but he’d sighed.

“You nearly died twice in two weeks, which might be a record even for us. Never would have got to look at you again.”

His smile was gone, when Danny forced himself to turn, and really look at Steve.

Apparently it was enough to serve as an invitation, because before Danny had a chance to react, one of Steve’s arms was around his waist, pulling him close, the other hand on the back of Danny’s head. And Steve caught Danny’s lips in a kiss so full of heat that Danny’s resolve briefly crumbled. His head was swimming, his heart was racing, and the temptation to take Steve to his bedroom was almost overwhelming.

“Stop,” he said. “Just, will you please stop for one second.”

“ _One Mississippi_ ,” Steve said, and leaned in again.

“No.” Danny pulled himself out of the only embrace he’d ever really craved and held out a steadying hand.

Steve looked stricken. “Danny?”

“We can’t keep going like this, babe. _I_ can’t keep going like this.” He reached out, and put his hand on Steve’s thigh, gave it a squeeze. “Sooner or later you’re gonna have to figure out what you want. And I suggest you make it sooner.”

Steve looked like he’d been caught sticking his hand in the cookie jar — no, wait, he’d already been caught doing that and he’d been utterly unrepentant.

“You make it sound easy,” he said, quietly.

“It’s not as hard as you make it out to be,” Danny replied. “You should go.” Steve didn’t move, for a moment, a long moment, and then he stood up, running his hand over his head.

“Okay. Yeah.”

“What time should we be there tomorrow?”

Steve blinked at him. “You’re still coming?”

“Of course we’re still coming, what are you, nuts? Come on.”

“Anytime,” Steve said earnestly. “Just come home when you can.”

And then he’d left.

It was the closest Danny had ever come to telling Steve what he needed, and he still hadn’t been able to bring himself to do it. He sat on the couch for a long time, half waiting for Grace to come home, half-wondering what would happen if he made Steve an ultimatum. But he knew he’d never do it. He was always going to take what he could get when it came to Steve, and maybe that made him pathetic, but the word that came to mind instead was ‘devoted’.

Grace arrived in a red dress that looked far too adult for his baby girl, but he bit down the complaint and said she looked beautiful, instead, when she dropped herself onto the couch next to him. She’d been in a good mood, lately, less t _eenage snit_ and more _Grace Face_ , but these trends were nothing if not cyclical.

“Did you have fun at the party?”

“Yeah,” she said. She pointed to a necklace he hadn’t noticed at first, a fine silver chain with a plump heart pendant, and smiled. “My Christmas present from Will.”

Danny leaned closer to look. “Wow. He’s off to a good start. I think the first time I bought a girl jewelry it was a mood ring that turned three fingers black. Is he being good to you?”

“Yeah,” she said, getting comfortable.

Danny knew how these things went. Kids learned how to treat their partners from their parents, and Lou respected Renee; adored Renee, loved Renee, talked about Renee like the best thing that had ever happened to him was her saying yes to their very first date.

“So Christmas at uncle Steve’s,” she said, tucking herself in under his arm. “What are you giving him?”

“A black eye, I think. I don’t know, I haven’t decided.” It was a lie. Under the tree was a framed drawing by maestro Charlie, of himself, Grace, Steve and Danny, from the maestro himself; a book of mocktail recipes from Grace; and from Danny, a new watch, since Steve had recently been told the one he’d been wearing for 24 years couldn’t be repaired. But the black eye was still on the cards.

“What did he do now?” she asked, with her eyes much too bright and amused.

“He doesn’t need to do anything specific. He just needs to be his lug-headed self, and depending on how that goes, he’s either the best man I know or the biggest pain in the ass.”

“I think he said the same thing about you, once. I’m going to bed. What time are we going to Steve’s?”

“As soon as we’re done with presents, monkey. Give me a kiss, that’s better. Get out of here or you’ll scare Santa off. Danno loves you.”

 

 

**June 2018**

 

Danny heads to Steve’s house for no specific reason, Saturday afternoon. It still feels strange not to be carrying a six pack under his arm, but he stops at the store and buys Steve a couple of bottles of the iced tea he likes, and a couple of steaks because why not, a man needs to eat. He lets himself into the house to find Steve hunched over the dining table, sling abandoned on another chair, doing something complicated with a protractor and a ruler and muttering under his breath. His eyes light up when Danny arrives.

“I wasn’t sure if you were coming today,” Steve says, looking so inordinately pleased that Danny has to grin and lean down to kiss him. There’s a little heat behind it, no doubt. It’s definitely time for that third date.

“Grace is with friends, Charlie is with Rachel and Stan…”

“They’re working things out?”

“They’ll be working things out when they’re seventy, I hope.” Danny shrugs, and hands Steve one of the iced teas, and puts the other in the fridge along with the steaks.

“What are you doing?”

“Uh… I’m wondering why I stopped drawing when I was a kid, because I used to be good at it, and now I’m really not.”

“And you thought you’d start by trying to draw a rocket ship? That’s pretty special, babe.”

“I thought if I kept it simple, used geometric shapes…” He shrugs, and winces when it hurts his shoulder, and doesn’t mope when Danny fetches the Tylenol from the pantry. He just takes them.

Danny helps him back into the sling, since he’s obviously not been wearing it for a while. “But seriously, what inspired you to draw rocket ships, Steven, when you could be drawing something you’re passionate about, like grenades or the molecular structure of protein? A nice AK-47?”

Steve grins at him and then tries not to, but it’s much too late.

“I was thinking, since I’ll have to repaint Charlie’s room, what if we made it like the moon? Stars and rocket ships… he can race his car on the actual moon, Danny, what little kid wouldn’t love that? Danny? You okay?”

Danny is standing with his hand over his mouth, trying not to fall over.

“Charlie’s room?”

Steve’s mouth slams shut, and his face goes blank. “I know you didn’t say yes, yet. It’s too much.”

“Yes.”

“It’s fine. It was just an idea.” He closes the sketchbook (which looks like it was probably bought back in high school) and pushes it across the table, forcing another smile.

“No, Steve, it’s _not_ too much. This is me, saying yes, I would very much like to move in with you, if that’s okay. I want to live here. Despite the ghastly ocean noise and the protein smoothies and the general y _o_ ** _u_** ness of everything, which, by the way, we’ll need to work on a little because —- _mmmph_ ,” he says, as Steve pulls him in and kisses him. Danny is enthusiastic, arms going around Steve’s neck, careful not to bump his arm, but enthusiastic nonetheless. It’s a good kiss. Danny can taste salt on Steve’s skin. The idiot had better not have gone swimming this morning.

“And your roommate rules all have to go.”

“Yes, Danno.”

“Because I’m not a roommate.”

“Yes, Danno.”

“But if I can’t sleep, I’ll wear the headphones.”

“I’ll make sure you’re exhausted before sleep, how’s that?” Steve’s eyes are sparkling, and Danny can already see him making lists in his head of what needs doing.

“Neanderthal. Come here,” Danny says, and kisses him again, very thoroughly.

“Does this count as a third date?” Steve asks, impishly, with a wide smile.

“No it does not, because your shoulder is too sore and you’d get hurt. Let’s just cook up these steaks and talk about what we need to do. By the way, that couch is going, because mine’s more comfortable.”

“I’m calling this whole thing off.”

“No you’re not. I’m gonna go turn on the grill.”

 

 

And in the end, Danny spends the night.

Much as Steve protests how chaste it is, the aimless kissing and touching, he can’t deny that his shoulder is hurting too much for anything more vigorous. And it’s nice. They talk quietly about plans to paint the kids’ rooms, to turn Jack’s den (which even Steve admits has become a mausoleum) into an office for the two of them. Steve even sleepily suggests that they could put an extension on the house so there’s still a guest room, and somewhere for Nahele to stay when he stays. It’s an antidote to Danny suggesting they sort out the attic; partly because Steve isn’t ready for that, and partly because that’s too close to their bedroom for Nahele to get much sleep.

“This is moving fast,” Steve says, into Danny’s collarbone.

“Is it too fast?”

“No. I like it.” Steve angles his head to kiss Danny again and Danny rests a hand on the back of his neck. It’s surreal to think it was just over a month ago that he told Steve that things needed to change.

He’s glad he didn’t waste any more time.

“And I’m not gonna wake up on my own?” he says, quietly, when the lights are out and Steve has managed to find a comfortable position for his arm. Danny spoons him neatly from behind, an arm draped over his stomach.

“Naw, Danny. You’re gonna wake up with my paws all over you. For the rest of our lives.”

“Love you. Goodnight.”

“Love you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to give a thank you to the lovely people who offered to beta for me! I am The Worst, though, and a) I hate imposing, b) I am around at weird hours and vanish for days/weeks at a time, and c) have no patience so I struggle to wait once I think I'm done. 
> 
> If the typos get out of control or I get into a situation where I desperately need to discuss plot with people I will be in touch. (Actually, if you're interested in talking _plot_ , come talk to me at the tumblr link below.)
> 
> I have five chapters close to ready and I'll post as I finish editing.
> 
> If you want to come and talk to me, the main blog I use is [fuckyoupbk](http://fuckyoupbk.tumblr.com) and I'd love to talk to you all xoxo so message or send an ask!


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> H50 gets a new Danno, thus becoming a complete team again, Steve and Danny get a third date, and the team busts some bad guys who desperately deserve it.
> 
> \--  
> Chapter warnings; 
> 
> 1) This chapter includes a very unpleasant multiple murder, canon-typical, along with the dismantling of a sex trafficking operation involving adult men. Neither the sexual violence or murder is depicted directly, but exercise caution if these themes will disturb you. If you'd prefer to skip to the third date, search for the words 'perfect third date material' and it will get you to that part.
> 
> 2) 'New Danno' is an OC, and I know not everyone likes that, but you know I couldn't have the boys retire without someone coming in to replace Danny. 
> 
> Note that the next chapter will involve their retirement party, and the theme of the fic will shift to their retirement, the restaurant, and our favorite guys starting to work in earnest on building a life together; essentially, this chapter marks the end of an informal 'Part One', so to speak!

**June 2018**

 

It’s been a fucking horrible morning, and the mood in the Five-Oh offices is about as somber as it could be.

Steve stands with his arms crossed, glaring at the screen, barely contained fury on his face. His shoulder is a lot better. One more week in the office and then they’ll do the surgery, but for now, at least, the pain is pretty manageable.

Reggie enters the bullpen, with an expression on his face which is almost the perfect mirror for Steve’s. “HPD are still on site. They’ve got dogs coming to help find any more…” He bites his lip. “Physical evidence. And they’re canvassing.”

 _Physical evidence_. Much more polite than ‘body parts’.

“Canvassing where?” Danny grumbles. “There’s no houses for miles. Which made that a perfect dumping ground.”

“There are a couple of homeless encampments. And they’re talking with the houses closest, as well, although that’s a hail mary.” Reggie rubs his temple. “I need coffee.”

“Do we at least know how many bodies it is yet?” Steve asks, stone-faced.

“Well. Six heads. Noelani thinks that it’s probably six bodies, but she’s got a lot of work ahead of her. Could be a day or two before we know for sure.” He rests his hands on the edge of the table, and looks up at the gory photographs. “How are we doing on IDs?”

“Should have something soon,” Danny says. “Where are the kids?” It’s a bad habit, calling Tani and Junior ‘kids’, but it slips out of his mouth almost daily.

“Supervising the transfer to the M.E.’s office. I really do need coffee, guys. Real coffee. I’m going across the street. You want anything?”

“Yeah. Tall, black and strong,” Danny says, and Reggie spits out a near-hysterical laugh.

“I’m right here, baby,” he says, patting his chest, and Danny and Steve have to laugh as well. Much-needed, to break the mood in here.

“Oh, my god, Steve, you really did manage to replace you with another, only slightly less obnoxious you. He’ll have the same. And if they’re tossing out any malasadas, let them know we don’t approve of that kind of waste, and bring ’em back with you. I need some goddamn sugar if I’m gonna get through a day this gruesome.”

Reggie nods again, and heads out the door.

Steve and Danny go back to working on identification, but so far none of the faces have popped up on facial recognition, which means that none of the men have driver’s licenses in Hawaii.

“We’ll have to wait for fingerprints,” Danny says, moments before the door bursts open and a tiny Japanese woman, still inarguably local, hurtles into the bullpen, pursued by security. Her eyes are already on the screen and she is muttering a string of curses which make even Steve and Danny raise an eyebrow each.

_In sync._

(It’s a good thing Tani isn’t there to see it.)

“Mother _fucker_ ,” she grunts, and runs a hand through her hair. “Where were they found?”

“Excuse me,” Danny says, waving off the HPD security guard. “I’d say you’re not supposed to be here, but I think you’ve gathered that already. I will say that you look invested enough for us to want to listen to whatever it is you need to say, but perhaps an introduction or two first.”

She barely seems to hear him, but finally turns, shaking her head as if to clear it.

“Uh, yeah. Detective Maki Kekeo, HPD homicide.” She shakes Danny’s hand, surprisingly firm (code for _she doesn’t seem to notice that she’s breaking a number of small bones in his hand_ ) and then Steve’s, though Danny isn’t sure she’s absorbed their names. “Let me guess, you haven’t got ID on any of them?”

“Not yet,” Steve says. “Detective Kekeo, can I ask what you’re doing here?”

“Last month, I got a call out to a body dump with two young Chinese men. They were in a dumpster behind a restaurant on Maunakea street. Significant pre-mortem injuries, serious sexual trauma, dismembered. When I started looking into it, I found there’d been another one, seven months ago, before I got back to the island. Three men that time. Same MO. Severe injuries, sexual trauma, and they’d been dismembered before disposal. The first time, the bodies weren’t found until the dumpster was emptied into landfill. The second one, last month, they’d been dead less than eight hours. My guess is whoever did it decided there wasn’t enough lead time on a dumpster and decided the forest was a better option. Goddammit. _Motherfucker_.”

Steve pulls out his phone, and calls Noelani. “It’s Steve,” he says. “We need fingerprints off all the hands you’ve found, ASAP. And when you start looking at the bodies, we need to know if there’s sexual trauma. You doing okay there?”

Danny can’t hear her reply.

“You’re a trooper,” Steve says, gently. “Call if you need to talk later.”

Detective Kekeo crosses her arms, and Danny realizes he’d dismissed her as tiny far too quickly. She’s small, but powerfully built. Muscular. And with fire in her eyes. She glances at the computer table, and starts shuffling through the photographs.

“They’re all sex-trafficking victims,” she says. “That’s my take, anyway. Unfortunately, we didn’t get very far, because they’re undocumented, so no one fucking cares — that, and the fact that when you find a body in a dumpster, the problem isn’t finding trace evidence, it’s finding what trace evidence actually _means_ anything. I hope they do better with this. Less contamination. Who’s collecting evidence at the scene?”

“Eric Williams and Charlie Fong,” Steve says.

“Good. Now, just so you know, I’m working this case with you. If you try to get rid of me, I’ll probably do something regrettable. I know every lead, everything we’ve already chased down, this is **_my_** case. And I’m not stupid enough to try to get it back off the governor’s attack dogs, but I’m here for the duration. And —”

“Okay,” Steve says, with a nod.

“— If I hear any crap about _illegals_ , or a single joke about sex trafficking, I swear to… what?”

“I said okay,” Steve says. “Welcome to Five-Oh. Can you make some calls, get your case notes delivered to us? We should start going over the evidence while we wait for news.”

She narrows her eyes distrustfully, and then nods.

“I’ll get it myself. I’ll be back in fifteen.”

And she’s gone.

Steve and Danny wait until they hear the elevator door him quietly, and then look at each other.

“What do you think?” Steve asks.

“I think she’s got terrible taste in combat styles, since she’s obviously belted in MMA instead of having learned to box in her formative years, but there’s no accounting for taste. I think we see how she gets on with the team, especially Reggie, and I need to know if she’s as smart as she seems to be. I want to look at her old notes. Check out her record, which had better be as good as mine, though now I’ve said that I’m betting it’s actually better and I’m going to have to eat crow. Think we could get someone on that?”

“Feeding you crow?”

“Try ‘checking out her record’, Steve, keep up.”

“Yeah, Danny, we can get that. But what do you _think_?”

Reggie strides in the door and doles out the caffeine.

“I think she just walked into the most intense job interview she’ll ever experience in her life,” Danny says, slapping Reggie’s back. “Hey, Reggie. Thanks for the coffee, buddy. We think we found you a partner.”

 

 

At seven o’clock, Danny calls Rachel’s house to talk to Charlie and Grace. It’s a necessarily quick conversation, since Charlie needs a bath, and Rachel and Grace need to sit down to dinner, but on days like this, seeing the worst of humanity, Danny always needs to talk to his kids. Hear about their days. Grace is harder to draw out, now she’s older, but he has to admit that she’s been a little more like her old self since things started changing. He hates the idea that her understanding of Steve’s situation might be upsetting her enough to make her behave, but he can’t deny he’s been enjoying hearing about her day in more than the occasional grunt and an insistence that he’s _so embarrassing_. Charlie, of course, always wants to talk. Today, it’s all about a bug he found.

“I love you, Danno,” Charlie sing-songs into the phone, before he ends the call.

Danny stares at the blackened screen for a long moment, failing utterly to notice Steve enter his office and lean on the doorjamb.

“You okay?” he asks.

“No,” Danny replies, quite honestly. “I’m not. I’m sick. The next time someone asks me why I’m a misanthrope, I’m showing them those photos.”

“You’re not a misanthrope. You love people. That’s why you do this job.”

Danny waves it off. He knows what he means.

“Listen, there’s nothing more we can do here. I sent Tani and Junior home. Lou gets back from Chicago tonight so he’ll be in tomorrow. I even sent Maki home, though I suspect she’s just gone back to HPD. She’s like a dog with a bone. A _Danny_ with a bone. I think she’s perfect.”

Danny couldn’t disagree.

“Reggie?”

“Yeah, he’s with us on this. I think he’ll talk to the Governor tomorrow.”

“I mean, did he leave?”

“Yeah. He doesn’t like his kid to be home alone for long, left about an hour ago.”

Danny stares at the screen on his laptop. Steve is right; there’s nothing more they can do tonight. It just seems wrong to leave when somewhere on this beautiful island there are young, terrified Chinese men who wanted to come to America and are now being used as sex toys.

“Yeah, okay,” he says, closing the laptop. “What are we doing for dinner?”

“Kamekona’s?”

Danny snorts. “Perfect third date material,” he jokes, but Steve darts an arm out and collects him up close. Danny is never going to get used to the way it feels to have all of Steve’s focus on him, like this. The intensity in his eyes when he looks down at Danny. Steve smiles so big and bright it’s like the sun coming out from behind a cloud. It’s overwhelming, it’s beautiful, it’s everything Danny needs in a day, good or bad. The crinkles around Steve’s eyes, the brackets around his mouth. He’s so goddamn beautiful that Danny’s heart catches in his chest.

“Perfect third date material,” Steve agrees, his voice heavy.

After a day like this, there’s something so right about seizing whatever happiness you can find. Danny angles his face up for a kiss, and Steve pulls him closer, nudging his mouth open. There’s a direct line from Danny’s mouth to his cock, and he feels a twitch of interest. Yes, this is it, this is the night.

“Alright, you goof. Let’s get out of here. And don’t think you can cheap out on me, my friend. I want all the trimmings.”

“Cheap out?” Steve complains, as they head for the doors. “Shouldn’t we be splitting it this time anyway? There was my turn, then your turn, and now…”

“Yap yap yap,” Danny says fondly. “You’re prettier with your mouth closed.”

 

 

They’re barely through the door of Steve’s house before they start discarding clothing; Steve’s t-shirt is dropped unceremoniously by the couch and Danny’s button-up by the foot of the stairs. The stairs present a significant challenge because there’s no elegant way to climb stairs while trying to get your shoes off, especially if you have a history of gimpy knee or frequent shoulder dislocations; plus, they can’t keep their hands off each other. Practicality wins out, in the end, and they pull apart, ascending the rest of the stairs and stumbling into Steve’s room to strip.

Danny can’t keep his eyes off Steve, and it’s nice to know he doesn’t have to. All that tan, lean muscle (though… has he lost weight?), and the tattoos, and his long, proud cock, already straining. Steve, for his part, can’t seem to get his eyes off Danny’s chest, until Danny manages — at last — to get his jeans and boxers down over his hips when Steve turns his attention to his thick cock.

Steve lets out an oddly keening sort of sound and reaches out, and Danny joins him on the bed, straddling his thighs and pushing him down. Steve is all limbs, legs coming up to grip Danny’s hips and pull him down, arms doing much the same thing around his torso, chasing Danny’s mouth but apparently appreciative enough when Danny nuzzles into his neck, instead of kissing him.

“It’s been too long,” he says. “Fuck, Danny. I’m sorry. I’m sorry I wasted so much time.”

“Shh, babe, doesn’t matter. We’ve got plenty of time now.”

“I’m sorry I made you think I didn’t want this. All of this. Us, being together. I did, I just…”

“Babe, I love you, but your pillow talk could use some work,” Danny says, leaning down for a kiss, slotting his thigh between Steve’s and grinding down helplessly.

“No, Danny,” Steve says, with a hint of frustration. “Would you just listen to me for one minute? You’ve been right about everything. You’re right. I was afraid of this. Of having something to lose, of not knowing what to do. And yeah, I’m scared I’ll get sick and I’ll be a burden. But none of it excuses what I’ve done.”

Danny props himself higher over Steve’s body. And wishes he could rip the throats out of every person who’s ever contributed to the bundle of neuroses that make up Steve’s brain.

“It’s _o_ ** _kay_** , babe. We’ve got a fresh start, here.” He rests his hand against Steve’s cheek. “And we’re gonna have a beautiful life. And a _long_ one. There, that’s my roommate rule right there. The only one that counts. Okay?”

Steve’s expression still has a hint of frustration and guilt, but his face relaxes, and when Danny leans into him again, he sinks into it. Their kisses are less frantic, now, but more heated, and Danny really wishes there’d been time for a quick shower to clean the pipes because this could end up being disappointingly brief. But Steve seems to be aware of it, too, backing off when Danny gets too close to breathless.

He might actually be psychic, because just as Danny’s knee starts screaming, Steve rolls them over. He’s all hands, and Danny loves it, the way Steve seems to get distracted and fascinated by individual body parts, spending a good long time worrying over Danny’s nipples with his tongue — Danny’s nipples are as sensitive as a woman’s, and he’s pleading and rolling his hips before Steve gives a sly grin and moves on. Tasting his skin, the crease of his hip, the inside of his elbow — there, brand new erogenous zone Danny hadn’t been aware even existed, good to know, fun facts — and finally low enough to tongue the slit of Danny’s dick.

Danny growls and rolls his hips, but Steve grips them hard and pushes them down against the bed, just controlling enough to be an absolute turn-on. He takes an exploratory approach, tasting and licking without ever committing to just getting on with it.

“You’re the very definition of a cock tease,” Danny growls. “Get your mouth on me, _Steven_.”

“I’m taking my time, _Daniel_. I don’t want you to come.”

“Yeah? You have other plans?”

“You know I do. Fresh tube of lube in the top drawer, and when I’m done licking this thing, I’m going to ride it. Think about it all the time, Danny. What it feels like when you’re splitting me open and filling me up. I think about it _all the time_. Finger myself open and remember all the times we —”

“Fuck, Steve, you need to change things up right now or I’m just gonna come on your face, listening to you talking like that.”

“Another day, maybe,” Steve says, and Danny can hear the grin in his voice, even feel it as he takes the tip of Danny’s dick in his mouth and finally sinks down over it.

Danny moans loud enough to wake the neighbors — not literally, he hopes, because the one on this side is very very old and might have a heart attack — and Steve very sensibly tightens his grip over the base of Danny’s shaft, so he won’t go off prematurely.

“Stop, stop,” Danny says, tapping his shoulder. “Steve. Get the fucking lube. I need to fuck you blind, right now.” Steve sits up with a wicked grin on his face and shifts across the bed to scrabble in the top drawer of his nightstand. He pulls out a tube of lube and lies on his back, but he slicks his own fingers. Danny groans, as Steve rolls onto his side, reaches behind himself and starts working himself open. Danny’s not even going to make it to the fucking, if he has to watch this, but he can’t turn away. He shifts his gaze from Steve’s ecstatic face to his hand, over and over, groaning as Steve finds his prostate and shivers all over.

“I hope you’re ready, babe, because one more second watching that and I’m gonna waste all that prep by coming all over your chest.”

Steve actually pouts, but removes his fingers and wipes them on the sheet, getting onto his back again. It’s interesting, because he does have a preference for being fucked from behind, but Danny doesn’t comment. He gets it. It’s the need to be able to see each other’s faces, to kiss, the intimacy of that. This isn’t like the other times, and they both know it. They’re crossing a threshold here.

Steve parts his knees, open and wanting, and Danny lowers himself onto his body, mouths connecting again for a moment before he takes himself in hand and rolls the tip of his cock over Steve’s puffy hole. Steve rolls his hips.

“C’mon, Danny,” he says. “Please, just…”

He has a hand wrapped around the back of Danny’s neck, trying to pull him down again, and Danny just grins and pushes forward. Steve’s eyes seem to roll into the back of his head, for a moment, and it’s such a gorgeous sight that Danny just holds his position, enjoying the view, before he pushes the rest of the way in.

“You’re still gorgeous,” Steve says. “You’ll always be gorgeous. Fuck, Danny. Fuck me. Please.”

And Danny obliges, with Steve’s legs wrapped tightly around his hips, thrusting ruthlessly, angling himself careful to hit Steve’s prostate every time. He’s loving the way Steve’s head keeps rolling back on his shoulders, almost as much as he loves the way Steve keeps forcing it back, keeping those big eyes on Danny, needing the eye contact, the reassurance.

He pushes himself up onto one elbow and pulls Danny down for a kiss, all ruthless affection and need, murmuring quiet endearments Danny can’t even hear between kisses. Danny performs a feat of acrobatics to get a grip on Steve’s cock, and jerks him roughly until Steve lets out a strangled sound and comes all over himself. He clamps down hard as he does it, and that’s it for Danny. He comes so hard he almost whites out, head on Steve’s chest, still rocking his hips through the last of his orgasm.

It’s almost painful to pull apart, but Danny’s had too much of his weight on his bad knee for much too long, and as his softening cock slips from Steve’s body, he collapses onto the bed beside him. Steve takes his hand, still breathing hard.

“That was a great third date,” he says, and Danny laughs, exhausted. It’s hard to believe a few hours ago he was hurting so badly, thinking of the worst that humanity has to offer, and now he’s here, happy and content despite the screaming in his knee. “What happens on a fourth date?”

Danny rolls over to tuck himself against Steve’s side. They’re disgusting, the both of them, sweat and come everywhere, and the room smells like ass. But for the moment, he doesn’t care. It’s not even late. They can take a shower, together, and change the sheets, and still be back in the office at seven.

“In our case, I think the fourth date will involve everyone we’ve ever met being here for our retirement party on Saturday, babe. Assuming we’ve closed this case by then.”

“Oh. That sounds like fun, but less naked. Fifth?”

“Ah, yes, the magical fifth date eating jell-o in your hospital room post-surgery.”

“You’re ruining my buzz.”

“Well, the sixth date will involve me moving in here and hitching my wagon to yours for the foreseeable future, so it’s not all bad news.”

“Foreseeable?” Steve angles his head to rub a wet kiss against Danny’s neck and shoulder.

“You know what I mean.” Danny rolls over and throws his arm over Steve’s body, and in the low light afforded by the bright moon outside, they kiss lazily for a few more minutes. Until Danny declares them disgusting, and they get up to deal with the aftermath.

 

 

It should be said: Danny does not wake up alone. Again. He wakes up with his handsy, grabby partner plastered to his back, and ten minutes of aimless, lazy kissing before they get up to face the day, which neither anticipates being any better than the previous one.

 

 

Detective Kekeo is very, very good at her job. Trying to get anything out of her about herself turns out to be a complete waste of time, when she’s busy putting together intel and trying to find records of the undocumented immigrants, these poor men, hoping that she’ll find something that suggests who else might have arrived with them, and when. But Danny is good at his job, as well, and over a sandwich he eats at his desk at lunchtime (well, three in the afternoon when he gets a chance to shovel something into his mouth) he does a little research. Turns out Kekeo grew up on the island, studied criminology at Rutgers (see, good taste in higher education as well), and then joined the Louisiana Police Department where she worked her was to detective in a pretty spectacular streak. She headed to the FBI, operating out of the field office in Buffalo for several years, where she’d once again impressed everyone.

She’d returned to Hawaii six months ago, though there was no indication of why. Unmarried, no children — if he wants anything more about that (not that she’s under any obligation to share, but hey, curious guy) Danny figures he definitely needs to wrangle her into coming to the retirement party and maybe plying her with a little alcohol. Contingent, obviously, on solving this before the end of the week.

And he needs them to have solved this by the end of the week. The thought that there are still men out there being used this way has him nauseous and enraged.

He has other reasons for needing this solved, too. There’s no way he’s going to get Steve into the hospital for his surgery on Monday if it’s not.

As he closes down the browser, Tani ends a call and waves everyone into the bullpen.

“That was Noelani. This might be a long shot, but you know the dogs found the last hand this morning? Well, the prints match a crime scene from just over four months ago. There was nothing in the system, and no one looked too hard at it. Someone broke into a convenience store in Waimānalo, but all they stole was food and a few bottles of water and fruit juice, so the cops figured it was probably kids. But they got some partial prints, and they’re a match for that last hand.”

“It tracks,” Kekeo says. “If they got away, the first priority would be getting something to eat. But in this state — emaciated and exhausted — they wouldn’t have been hard to track down. I wish I knew why those bastards had to kill them, though. It makes no sense — quite aside from the fact that it’s pure fucking evil, this is a significant investment.”

“We might have an answer to that, too.” Tani looked ill. “We’ve got proper blood toxicology and screening results, now. It looks like they were sick. As in, contagious, probably not much to look at, _no longer bringing in a profit_ sick.”

Danny turns to Steve, whose rage is simmering just below the surface.

Reggie brings up the HPD police report. “There’s got to be something around there. Someplace they could be holding people. Somewhere the sick fucks who get off on this sort of thing would come to them. All we have to do is find it.”

Junior brings up satellite imagery. “Yeah, but. There’s probably a lot of places. I don’t know. We need to thin it down.”

“Right, we’re checking it out,” Steve said. “Detective Kekeo, you ride with me. Danny, take Reggie, Tani and Junior can head out together, and Lou, keep working the intel. See if you can find anything around there. Addresses where disturbances have been reported, anything at all. Coordinate with HPD in Waimānalo. Tell them nothing is too minor.”

“On it, chief,” Lou says. And they’re out.

 

 

“I’m driving my own car. This is a beautiful, beautiful moment in my life,” Danny says. He can see Steve’s truck ahead of them. They’ll peel off once the highway ends.

“Yeah,” Reggie says, sounding unimpressed. “You in the doghouse or something? I think I should have gone with Kekeo.”

“I see where you’re going with this, friend. But no, this is right. That right there,” Danny says, pointing, “is a job interview. If she passes, she’s all yours. She’s got my stamp of approval. I think she’d be an excellent addition to the task force.”

“If she’s supposed to be my partner, shouldn’t I be doing that?”

“It’s Steve’s legacy. He needs to know there’s a me in the room. You need a detective of my caliber, not that I like to toot my own horn, but you need a brain like that in the room.”

“Oh, didn’t sound like you were tooting your own horn at all,” Reggie replies, crossing his arms and raising his eyebrows in what is probably supposed to be innocence and comes off as facetiousness. Of the art to rival Grace at her most adolescent. Danny smirks. His record speaks for itself. And he’s ready to walk away from it.

They pull up at the convenience store that was robbed but don’t get out. Might be worth a visit later, but right now, Danny needs to see the lay of the land. He drives slowly, looking from one side of the road to the other.

“What are you looking for?” Reggie asks.

“I’ll know it when I see it. Hang on.”

Danny idles the Camaro and checks out a couple of the cars parked on the side of the road. Mostly permitted for residents. He frowns, a theory starting to build in his head. He slips his hands into his pockets and frowns, returning to the car, and sitting for a moment.

“If you were looking to do something… let’s not even say _illegal_ , necessarily, but something you wouldn’t want anyone to know about — I don’t know, maybe you’re the only square-dancing black guy on Oahu. And maybe you have to travel a little way out to get to your square-dancing class.”

For a moment, Danny had been about to say ‘ _say you were cheating on your wife_ ’, but that would have been unspeakably cruel to say to a man who had lost his wife in the worst way possible, betrayed by a member of his own team.

“How would you get there?”

“Public transport’s out,” Reggie says, with a shrug. “No cover if someone sees you, too many witnesses — and I know you’re not saying that I’d ever be caught dead doing what white people think passes as dancing, so let’s go ahead and call it my stand-up comedy routine, okay?”

“Stand-up comedy, sure. I can see that. I bet your teenage kid thinks all your jokes are funny, just like mine does.” Charlie, of course, thinks literally everything is funny.

“Right. So, I’d drive, sure, but I wouldn’t park nearby.”

Mm-hmm.

“Not a lot of parking around here. And you wouldn’t want to park _too_ far away in case HPD showed up to arrest everyone for crimes against comedy.”

“About the size of it.”

Danny calls Grover.

“Lou, you’re on speaker. Do me a favor, look at parking tickets in say a two-mile radius of the convenience store, would you? Filter out tickets from locals — look for men, specifically, coming from Honolulu. Aged, uh… thirties to sixties.”

“What are you getting at?”

“I don’t know, might be a long shot. Call me back, Lou.”

He eases away from the side of the road, looking at the houses, driving circles around the residential neighborhood. Fifteen minutes later, Lou calls back.

“I don’t know how you do it,” Lou says. “I’m sending you an image. Sending it to the whole team. Looking over the last twelve months I had no luck, but concentrating it down to the last six, there’s a starburst pattern of parking tickets from men in that age range who live in Honolulu. About a mile in diameter. I think we have a search grid. What do you want to do next?”

 

 

Back at the palace, they plan the night’s operation. Steve is gleeful, expansive, like a hound with a scent, and an arm draped over Danny’s shoulders, proud. It’s almost physically impossible for Steve and Danny not to take over the planning of the op, but they manage. By six o’clock, Five-Oh has arranged an HPD presence, mostly plain clothes, hidden around Waimānalo, and are waiting for a drone to deliver heat data that could indicate a lot of warm bodies in a relatively small space.

(An earlier attempt to find a house or another structure using too much electricity had inadvertently found two grow houses. DEA had promised to give them time to finish this op before they nabbed the hapless pot dealers. Danny feels like a snitch.)

Kekeo is subdued, and strangely, seems to resent the computer table with unnecessary passion. She stares at it with her arms crossed, expression more distasteful every time it produces something useful.

Danny knows the expression. It’s envy. She’s imagining how much easier her own job would be with access to that kind of technology. Danny can’t wait for her to get a look at the rendition room.

“Danny and I will coordinate from here,” Steve says, surprising everyone. “I look around this room… and I see a complete team. And a well-planned op. We’ll be right here when you take them down, and we’ll be ready to advise if you need it. But I don’t think you will.”

Steve unclips his badge from his belt and passes it to Kekeo.

“What do you say?” Steve asks. “Reggie over there needs a partner and you’re damn good at what you do. I’ll feel better knowing you’re here to replace Danny.”

She stares at the badge for a moment, and then at Reggie, and Danny is half-expecting a rant about putting people on the spot and how she has a job and she doesn’t need another one, thank you. But instead, after a nod from Reggie, she snatches the badge and clips it onto her belt.

“Hell yes,” she says. “Come on. We have a job to do.”

 

 

By midnight, Steve and Danny are at King’s medical, coordinating the intake of eight traumatized, malnourished and unwell men aged between 19 and 23, all of whom have been on Oahu for just over eight months. They fear being separated, which is understandable, so arrangements have been complicated, though the presence of several older female translators seems to help them to feel safe. What will happen to them when they’re well enough to be moved, Danny doesn’t know, but under the circumstances, he hopes strings will be pulled to get them refugee status — perhaps a long way from the island that will always hold terrible memories for them.

HPD’s holding cells contain six deeply miserable human traffickers, a number of whom have received mysterious injuries while being arrested and processed. (They also hold four men whose wives are about to ask for a divorce, once they understand the extent of their crimes; Danny can only imagine it’s hard to share a bed with someone once it’s been revealed they’ve paid actual money for the privilege of raping refugees.) Two of their buddies are in the morgue, and three more are in the hospital with gunshot wounds. They’ll be held for as long as possible before being brought to the rendition room, one by one, to start choking up names of the snakeheads who supply them.

Kekeo has to be coaxed into her car with the promise that tomorrow, she will be able to make these guys wish they were all dead, instead of just anticipating life terms. She seems to like the sound of immunity and means. No one else needs as much convincing, though Eric and the rest of the evidence collection team look unimpressed with the fact that they’re likely to be at the house until breakfast time is nothing but a memory.

 

 

“We did good, Danny. That was a good last case.” Steve is quiet and contemplative on the drive home.

“Don’t jinx us, babe. We’ve still got a couple of days to get through.” Though he’s probably right. All there is left to do is interrogations and reports, and see what can be done to help the men in the hospital, and it wouldn’t make sense for anyone to put them on anything new with two days to go; Five-Oh is a complete team again.

“It’s a hell of a legacy, babe,” Danny says, reaching to squeeze Steve’s hand. “You did something amazing.”

Steve says nothing, as he parks in his driveway. Danny’s been on his feet too long, knee complaining somewhat (he should probably get it checked again soon, see if there’s anything he should be doing before embarking on a second career that will have him on his feet even more than the first one did).

Danny doesn’t say a word when Steve opens two longboards, and carries them down to the beach. The evening is warm, with a cool breeze, and the ocean smells… bearable. They drink slowly, looking out over the water; it’s late, and they should be in bed, but they’re both too wired for sleep, and simultaneously, too tired for sex.

“Eight years and I still can’t read your mind, babe.”

Steve takes another sip of his beer and wipes his mouth.

“I just wonder, sometimes. If we did so great, why hasn’t it made a difference? Why isn’t the crime rate actually down?”

“How do you know it’s not? We arrested a hell of a lot of people who were operating completely under the radar before we came along and kicked their nests.”

“You’re mixing metaphors again.” Steve coughs. Only lightly, but if he thinks Danny hasn’t noticed it happening more often, lately, he’s wrong.

“Well, you’re mixing… your _face_ ,” Danny says, exhausted.

“You getting all your best lines from Charlie these days, Danno? I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Better than getting them from you, my friend. Now, if it’s alright with you, I need to sleep for at least five hours, and I’d rather not do it alone. Anyway, tomorrow, you have an appointment showing Kekeo how to get away with human rights violations without getting into too much trouble, or clogging the drain.”

“They’re not really human, Danny, it doesn’t count,” Steve says, following him over the lawn.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the lovely feedback, guys! Once again you can find me at [fuckyoupbk](http://fuckyoupbk.tumblr.com). Just an additional note to say the next two weeks will be super busy for me so I might be a little slow, but hopefully will get a couple more chapters edited and up soon.  
> ~ pbk


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Friends galore, for the retirement party.

**July 2018**

 

It’s probably to be expected, that this is so anti-climactic.

Saturday morning, on the first day of his retirement, Steve stares at the ceiling. Beside him, Danny snores quietly, and unconsciously rolls closer, throwing an arm across Steve’s chest.

There’s an overall feeling that he has made a terrible, colossal mistake. Steve still feels vital, capable, and this feels so much like giving up. He has no idea how he’s ever going to sleep soundly, knowing he’s safe at home while other people are risking their lives. The idea makes him feel ill.

Danny huffs sleepily and opens one eye.

“Can’t sleep when you’re thinking that loud, babe,” he says, rubbing Steve’s stomach. “This time of the day you should only be thinking about coffee, and breakfast.”

“I think I need to go for a swim,” he says. His voice sounds kind of empty. “I don’t have a lot of chances left before the surgery, and then I won’t be able to swim at all for another month.”

“See, I love the way that implies you’re planning to follow your post-op instructions. A nice change of pace. Go, babe. Work off whatever spiders you’ve got in your brain. But don’t get eaten by a shark, okay? We’ve got about a hundred people coming here today and I don’t wanna have to explain why the guest of honor is ceviche.”

“Nice, Danno,” Steve says, rolling over onto Danny’s body to kiss him thoroughly — yeah, Daniel, try to get back to sleep half-turned on, good luck with that. But something must linger in his expression, because Danny looks a little worried, one hand settled behind his head and the other pressed against Steve’s face.

They hold eye contact for a long time. It’s nice.

“You having regrets?”

Steve shrugs. “Maybe.” His eyes dart to Danny’s. “Not about this. Not about us. I just… it’s gonna be hard, walking away.”

Danny strokes his face. Danny. Tired, but still gorgeous. Steve is going to wake up with this face next to his own on this bed every morning for the rest of his life, and maybe that makes it worth the sacrifice. He settles in, head on Danny’s heart, and Danny loops his arms loosely around Steve’s shoulders, kisses his bristly head.

Okay, he’ll grow it out. That has to feel weird.

“You know that everyone understands, babe. Everyone gets it.” Steve feels a tickle in his throat. It might be the edge of a tear or two, or it might be a cough; either way, it’s unwelcome. He closes his eyes and focuses on the way Danny’s hands feel, resting on his back.

Maybe he doesn’t need to swim this morning.

Though he definitely needs his batteries recharged, and nothing does that better than the water.

“I won’t be long,” he promises, with another kiss. All this sleeping in is making him soft.

“Remember what I said about the sharks,” Danny answers, curling under the blanket again as Steve steps into a pair of boardies and disappears down the stairs.

 

 

And it’s true: Steve loves the water, and the water loves him back. His shoulder, while considerably better, is still too sore for freestyle swimming, so he pushes out from the shore with an easy breaststroke. Better for enjoying the views anyway. He catches sight of some distant dolphins and reminds himself to talk to Gracie about taking a few of her friends out before the summer is over. She might be too old for some things, but no one has ever been too old — or for that matter, too young — for dolphin watching. They can make a day of it, cook right there on the boat, let the kids swim right off the side. Danny can bring Charlie.

There are definitely things that Steve is looking forward to. And having time to spend with the people he loves — time that will never again be interrupted by something too awful to think about — that’s a whole lot of them right there. That, he knows he is going to love. The family he’s always wanted and always doubted he’d ever get. Here it is, ready made, Danny and Gracie and Charlie. And Nahele, too. He needs to talk to that kid in the next few days about culinary school. It’s a year since he graduated high school and he’s been working like a dog, but Steve wants more for him than a shrimp truck. He should be head chef in their kitchen, one day. Unless he has other plans.

He pushes out further and further, feeling more relaxed as he goes, the salt water cradling his limbs, his torso, perfectly balanced. Steve feels weightless, and much younger, out here. He dives beneath the water but there’s not a lot to see. A lazy manta ray far below him, strands of seaweed.

He pauses to tread water for a while, looking back at the house. It looks so small from this distance, the house that loomed so large in his mind for so many years. When he’d come back for a visit after Joe White saved his life in Afghanistan, it hadn’t felt like the house he’d grown up in, which was strange, considering that absolutely nothing had changed. His mother’s ghost had still lingered in every room. Yet it had been Steve and John who seemed like ghosts. Awkwardly formal with each other; Steve hadn’t even been able to bring himself to call his old man anything but _sir_ , for the entire stilted week.

Still, since in the end that’s all he’d had, he is grateful for it.

The manta ray gets curious, swimming closer, until Steve can run his hand over the softly undulating fins, so much like the hem of a skirt. They’re bold, friendly creatures. It slips away again, and Steve watches until he can’t see it anymore.

He’s worn out. Too worn out for a long swim, so he starts back towards the shore, easily and gently, focusing on the sound of the water. When his ears are beneath the surface, there is the far-off echo of bubbles, the asynchronous music of the water currents. Above, he can hear splashing, and the rattle of leaves when the breeze shakes them up.

When he gets close to the shore, Danny is there, on one of their chairs, with two mugs of coffee and an appreciative leer as Steve steps out of the water. His eyes crinkle and his toes wriggle and his eyebrows waggle and he’s absurd. So absurd Steve has to kiss him, dripping wet, despite the hollering, despite the enraged shouts of ‘caveman’, ‘neanderthal’ and memorably, ‘wet dog, worse than Eddie, McGarrett’. And then he wraps the towel around his shoulders and sits down, enjoying the coffee and the quiet while the quiet lasts.

“You sort your head out a little?” Danny wants to know.

“As much as I can, for now. It’ll be okay, Danny.”

“I know it will. We need breakfast, and then you need to go and pick up your sister from the airport. Listen, I didn’t hear from Doris.”

Steve nods. “I didn’t invite her.”

Danny doesn’t say anything, for a while. Steve knows he’s glad, but worried, and it’s anyone’s guess which side will win out.

“Okay, that’s good to know. So you pick up Mary. The tables and chairs will get here while you’re gone. Are we good?”

The silence is lovely.

Ohana is so much better, though.

“Yeah, Danno. We’re good.”

 

 

By three o’clock in the afternoon, it looks like everyone Steve has ever met has congregated in his back yard. There’s a table straining with a whole kālua pig, because Mamo is a blessing, and he and his buddies had the presence of mind to offer to organize an Imu pit. The massive (though shrinking) piles of shrimp on the next table are, of course, courtesy of their new sous-chef Kamekona, and the assorted salads and vegetables were apparently masterminded by the crinkly-eyed Nahele, who is sitting next to a beautiful Samoan girl he has recently started pursuing with all the reckless abandon (and self-preservation instincts) of a puppy. She seems very sweet, though, and holds her own in a boisterous crowd, so she’s a keeper so far. The rest of the teenage contingent is larger than expected. Will and Grace, yes, and Lucy, who bears very little resemblance now to the frightened nine-year-old who had managed to keep her cool while being prodded through the jungle at gunpoint about a thousand years ago. Kevin Cole, who is a year older than Grace and at a different school but seems to know Will already. Probably from sports. Good, it’s good, all these ties, this web of family and friends, it can’t disintegrate because it’s too big, now. Steve just has to grip it good and tight.

Charlie and Sara are utterly taken with each other. Mostly, they’re holding hands and smiling. Little kids are the best.

Danny nudges Chin. “She’s a lot more confident than she was. You’re a great father, Chin. Of course, you’re about to endure the hell of _years_ of diapers and midnight feeds, which you skipped altogether with that one. Plus you’ll be double-timing it. Are you sure twins were a good idea?”

He jokes, but Steve knows he’d give his right arm to have had those years he missed with Charlie. Rachel, sitting near, bristles. Stan isn’t there, but apparently, things are going better.

“Daniel,” she chides, but Danny is buoyant, if lazy in the sun, and he waves her off.

“Yeah. I’m strangely looking forward to it. I wish Abby could have made it. She really wanted to be here, but we’re so busy. I offered to stay and she practically frogmarched me onto the plane. But I’m glad we came.”

He smiles as he turns to Kono and gives her arm a squeeze.

“I’m glad you made it too, cuzz,” she says, her cheeks dimpling, relaxing against Adam, who looks very happy not to be sharing her with any kind of law enforcement agency for the moment. She looks happy, but she looks tired, as well. Her human trafficking task force must be wearing her out. Not just the work; knowing that it’s never-ending, and that the fact she has to do it at all means there are people in the world who can do these things to other people. It looks like it’s taking a toll, and Steve hopes Adam has a trick or two up his sleeve to get her to slow down, at some point.

Oh, the irony.

“Will you look at this? The original Five-Oh task force together again, while the newbies bond at the next table.” Reggie, Tani, Junior and Lou raise their bottles in salute, and Jerry does his best not to look too disheartened by the changes. He’ll do fine.

Kekeo isn’t there. Which is a pity.

And then she is, leading a little girl of about eight by the hand as they come around the side of the house. There’s a family resemblance, but she’s not Kekeo’s. Kekeo looks like she’s trying very hard to relax and failing dismally, as she approaches.

“This is my niece, Satomi,” she says. “I thought it would be alright to bring her. I’m sorry we’re late, it was a rough morning.” It seems that’s all she’s going to say. Satomi shyly shakes everyone’s hands, and then spies Sara and Charlie and goes to join them.

Kekeo introduces herself around and though she always has an eye on Satomi, she makes an effort to socialize. People have started loading up plates, finding places at tables.

“She’s my sister’s daughter,” Kekeo says. “My sister died a few months ago, and her husband’s health isn’t good. So I came here to help raise her. I only say this because you all need to know she’s my first priority, here. And that’s all I have to say about that. Can I get anyone a beer?”

 

 

The evening rolls on. The kids end up in the water, all of them, the older kids keeping a close eye on the younger ones, and every adult eye out ready to call them in the moment it gets dark. Everyone is at the very least pretty tipsy, and at most outright drunk (Grover is gonna have so many regrets in the morning). Even Steve has had a couple of beers, but he cut himself off a while back without Danny having to say a word about Steve’s valiant attempt to evict Danny’s liver.

Danny is definitely a little drunk, leaning against Steve, settled in under his arm. It’s easier than Steve ever imagined, to be like this, so easily affectionate with him around other people. Even Rachel, who obviously got a warning from Grace to be nice. She’s been nice. She looks like she has a whole barrow full of regrets she’ll have to turn over in her hands later, but she’s been nice.

“So this is retirement,” Danny says, when Steve kisses his temple.

“I guess it is. Not bad so far, although, the cleanup will be hell. A lot more fun than the Governor’s little show for us next month. But hey, maybe we’ll manage a little bit of advertising in our acceptance speech, what do you think, Danno?”

“I think if you do anything that tacky, they’ll throw you into Honolulu Bay, and I won’t stop them. You know how I feel about product placement.” He angles his face up for a quick kiss, and Kono and Adam give them a smile that speaks volumes about how inevitable the rest of the world thought this was. Under other circumstances Steve might be annoyed that anyone had to have opinions about this at all; but since he’s got a shot and not screwing up, he settles for another kiss, and turns his attention to Flippa, and the impromptu dance floor that seems to have everyone on their feet.

The traditional Hawaiian take on ‘I can’t help falling in love with you’. Jerry’s providing extra vocals, and the kids are coming in unprompted from the water. Will and Grace are holding hands, looking much too cute.

“C’mon, Danno,” Steve says. “Dance with me.”

Danny makes a put-upon face. “You got me in boardies at a social event, babe. Choose your battles. Take the win.” But he smiles one of those dizzying smiles and lets Steve pull him out of his chair to dance.

It feels good. It’s another thing that shouldn’t feel this simple, but is, and when Danny leans against Steve’s shoulder, Steve remembers why retiring was absolutely worth it. He’d give anything to have this.

“When your shoulder heals, you gotta pick up the guitar again, babe. I didn’t buy it for you so it could collect dust.”

Yeah, he can do that.

The night rolls on, and everyone Steve loves is there together, and it’s perfect. He can’t have any regrets.

 

 

There’s no real discussion about it, but the next day, after cleaning the house (much easier with helping hands), after the tables and plates and cutlery and five thousand other things have been collected by the rental company, they split off. Rachel collects Charlie and Grace, and takes Sara for a few hours, much to Charlie’s delight.

Danny and Kono head off to continue Danny’s surf lessons. Steve wishes he could be a fly on the wall, there, but though he knows Danny has continued surfing in Kono’s absence, he’s still reluctant to go out with Steve. Maybe once things have settled a little more. After all, pretty soon, it’s going to be hard for Danny to wriggle out of doing anything with Steve.

Meanwhile, Chin and Steve head out fishing.

“I can still spearfish,” Steve insists irritably.

“Yeah, of course you can. After all, your shoulder surgery isn’t until tomorrow.” He raises his eyebrows. “I don’t want Jersey blowing a hole through my foot.”

“We don’t have to tell him.”

“You think I can stand up to the Danny Williams stare?” And he can, and they both know it, but Chin borrows a cousin’s fishing boat and they head out to a good spot to waste some time, eat a few sandwiches and talk.

Well. Talking is a relative term. Mostly, they doze on the boat between jerks on the line, the silence occasionally peppered with stories of more outrageous arrests. It sounds like San Francisco is about as sedate as Hawaii.

“It’s hard to believe it’s over,” Steve says, eventually, when he can bring himself to mention his retirement at all. Chin nods soothingly. “I mean, I’m forty-one years old, I should be doing this for years.”

He stares out over the water as if it might reveal something he doesn’t yet know.

“But I get it. You know, I haven’t even really admitted to Danny how much this scares me.”

“You should.”

“That old grump worries enough as it is,” Steve says, with an aborted grin and a shallow cough. “I think we need to get through the next few things, first. Surgery, PT, Danny moving in, the restaurant opening… hey, by the way, if you can make it for Christmas we’ll be doing it at the restaurant. Everyone.”

“I’ll either have a wife who’s nine months pregnant with twins and waddling around trying to get her water to break, or I’ll have… newborn twins. Maybe next year.”

“Oh, man, yeah. Well, next year. Or the year after. Might make it a tradition.”

“Tradition,” Chin agrees. “I guess you haven’t had a chance to build a lot of those, in your life.”

Steve shakes his head. It’s true. He can barely remember the things they did when he was a kid, and it all seems so hollow now he knows Doris’s life at home was little more than a cover story for the woman she really was. In the last eight years, there are definitely things that have become tradition, and he likes them. These threads that bind his people to him. But now? Now he has a family, and not just in the extended sense of the word. Danny and the kids are _his_ , now, and he wants the four of them to start their own traditions. He can see them decorating the restaurant for Christmas. He can imagine the place full of ohana and laughter, with his family right there in the center.

“I’m working on it,” he says. “Man, it’s hot today. Are you hot?”

“Have some water,” Chin says. “You’re probably dehydrated. You okay?”

“Yeah, I’m okay.”

They’re quiet a while longer, and then Chin clears his throat. “Did you talk to Sisa?”

Steve laughs, and stands up, reeling in a fish that is too small to keep. He unhooks the mouth and tosses it back. “Yeah.”

“And?”

“It’s a silver band with a red oak inlay. It’s the state ––”

“— tree of New Jersey,” Chin finishes. “Nice.”

“It’s not ready yet. And we’re not, either. He’s moving in over the next month or so, that’ll take time because I won’t be able to do much. We’ve got the restaurant opening… and then I think we’ll be ready. Maybe three months. I don’t wanna wait too long. I never thought I’d get this. What we used to have… it was enough, mostly, but now…”

Steve feels a lump in his throat, and he swallows it down. He has to stop thinking about the past. He has to stop regretting the time he now feels that he wasted.

“And I’ve been scared, Chin. I’ve been so fucking scared I almost blew it, right from the beginning. But the weird thing is, now… I’m not. I’m not scared of any of it. Except my health, but there’s no escaping that time bomb. Just gotta keep healthy as I can and hope for the best.”

Chin nods wisely, as Steve casts his rod and takes his seat again.

“You think Kono’s got him on the board yet?” Chin asks, gently letting Steve off the hook, because as much as he’s been doing a lot more talking about his feelings lately, it still takes it out of him the way no night op in hostile territory ever has.

“He's pretty good, these days. I wish he’d surf with me more often. It would be nice if it could be our thing, you know? One of our things.”

“I’m sure it will be, Steve,” Chin says, gently. “So… long engagement?”

Steve smiles at that. “Up to Danny,” he says. “We’ll let you know. You realize he hasn’t said yes, yet?”

“He will,” Chin says, and then they’re quiet again, for a good long time.

 


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The restaurant is nearly ready to go.

**July 2018**

 

“So tell me the truth, brah,” Kono says, sitting on one of the benches outside Kamekona’s truck. “Who cracked? I don’t think Chin and I still have a bet going, but just in case…”

Danny drinks half a bottle of water in one long gulp. “I’m not even sure how to answer that. I can tell you he was the first to launch a stealth date. And then when it was my turn, he made the annoyingly accurate observation that we’d been stealth dating for years, starting when he took me to see the ancient graffiti on the rocks.” He wiggles his fingers, and gestures at nothing, about to go on.

“Well, he broke his arm, and that whole thing turned into a crime scene. So that doesn’t count.”

“Thank you. I love you. I did make the same observation.” He grins. “I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop. This has all been much too easy. After years of very carefully and deliberately refusing to pull his thumb out of his ass and maybe advance the plot an inch or two, it’s been much too easy.”

“Brah.” Kono shakes her head. “There’s been nothing easy about this. Nothing.”

She’s not quite understanding what he’s saying, but okay. Danny just nods.

Or maybe she does. Kono reaches across the table to put a hand on his arm, and give a little squeeze. “Danny. There’s been nothing easy about it. Ever. You two have been dancing around this for so many years that if neither of you had eventually done something about it, we all agreed that we’d find a way to talk to you about it.”

“Well, that would have gone down very badly, so thank you for not doing that.”

“See, you have this persona, Danny, this tough mumbly Jersey guy, but you wear your heart on your sleeve. We knew when things had gone sideways. There was a day or two where you two just beamed at each other, and then Steve started fake smiling, and you stopped smiling altogether, and then you wouldn’t talk — for a day, a week, longer, and then because you’re the emotionally mature one in the relationship you’d reset the clock and everything went back to zero. It hurt to watch, sometimes.”

Danny is relieved, when Nahele brings a couple of plates of shrimp and rice, grinning widely, and leans down to kiss Kono on the cheek. “Hey, Auntie,” he says.

“Hey, Nahele. Your girlfriend is cute. Did you guys have a good night last night?”

He nods, blushing. It’s hard to picture this kid as the same kid who stole Steve’s car. Who cried for days when his horrible father died, who cried for weeks when his friend died of a meth overdose; the kid knows how to find the bright spots in life. Maybe Danny should spend more time with him and see what rubs off.

“Will we see you tonight?” Danny asks.

“Yes, sir,” Nahele says, beaming, and heads back towards the truck.

“We’re gonna ask him if he wants to go to culinary school,” Danny says. “I think Steve’s afraid that if we don’t, he’s gonna sign up for the Navy.” He pries the tail shell off a shrimp, and pops it into his mouth. He might have a hundred nicknames for Kamekona, but Danny will never tease his cooking. The man is a genius. The shrimp is always fresh, and perfectly flavored, and he’s already wondering who will run the truck when Kamekona and Flippa are working at the restaurant. He’s seen a few unfamiliar faces in the truck, the last few weeks, and again, with the light teasing, but there’s no question that Kamekona is a good businessman (witness the quarter of a million he invested in Steve’s. No, no, in the _bistro_ , when will Danny’s brain stop doing that?). He once told them Chin was to thank for that, but since what Chin knows about business Danny could probably fit in a hat, he’s never been sure what that’s about.

Anyway, no doubt he has a plan, and a backup plan.

“I feel like I should know instinctively why the Navy is a bad idea for Nahele, but I don’t,” Kono says.

“There’s nothing wrong with the Navy. Not a thing. But. For all intents and purposes Steve has adopted that kid, and he doesn’t want him so far away he can’t watch him. Besides, he’d be doing it because he thought it would make Steve happy, and if the last few years have proven anything, it’s that Steve is happiest with his people on hand, ideally close enough to touch. So. Going to culinary school in the morning and working in the restaurant at night, and then… probably eventually running the kitchen because Steve gets very very ambitious about this place, Kono, you don’t even _know_ , this is supposed to be _my_ dream but he’s put twenty years worth of savings and danger money into it… I’m rambling, I know, but I’m tired and stressed and anyway, I don’t think he could let Nahele leave. He loves that kid. Hell, I love that kid, and I don’t even know him like Steve does. I let him sit for Charlie, that’s how much I love that kid.”

He sounds as stressed as he is. This is stress monologuing. He’s also putting about the same amount of energy into picking the shells off a dozen more shrimp, and he hasn’t made eye contact with Kono in about the last decade. He looks up when he feels her hand on his arm again.

“Danny. What’s really going on, here? It’s not about Nahele, or the restaurant.”

“Kono, you’re an angel, you’re a Disney princess. Don’t make me ruin a lovely day of surfing and shrimp with my dire predictions.”

“Danny Williams,” she says.

Danny puts down his plastic fork. Grace would be so annoyed if she saw him right now. She got him — and Steve — a little cutlery set to carry around so they wouldn’t use the plastic. She’s so smart, so empathic. She cares. She got it from him, and he’s scared of what it might turn her into, sometimes.

“Radiation poisoning, Kono. I’ve read everything there is to read about it. The chances of Steve not getting cancer are slim. And my luck has never been good. I’m sick about it. I can’t sleep without him, just because I need to know he’s breathing. The whole point of retiring was to get him to slow down, and I don’t know if even this hanging over our heads can get him to do that. I love him, Kono,” he says, and hates how sad he sounds. “I’ve spent my whole life getting my heart broken, waiting for the next bad thing. And this, I can’t bear to lose this.”

She’s quiet for a long moment, and Danny stabs at his shrimp. It’s gorgeous, it’s so perfect. He can imagine this shrimp with a nice spinach fettuccini, just a little white wine to cut through the garlic.

“No one gets guarantees, Danny, you know that.”

“I do know that.” He does know that.

“Whatever time you get, you get. And cancer is not a death sentence. If anyone’s capable of fighting it, it’s Steve. You and Steve.”

“I know. I’m sorry. I hate my brain, sometimes. A lot of the time.”

“I hate mine, too. You’re not alone.”

Danny is quiet. “The day he said he’d do the restaurant with me, he said he believed in me. That he believed in us. I need that faith to be worth it. Not the restaurant. Us.”

“If there are any two people in the world who deserve a happy ending, Danny… it’s you two.”

Tears burn Danny’s eyes, and he blinks them away.

“Okay, that’s enough about me. Tell me about the task force,” he says, and she looks reluctant to change the subject, but she does it. Because she’s just that good.

 

 

One more night, with just the original members of the Hawaii Five-Oh task force; plus, of course, Grace and Charlie, and Nahele, and Sara, and Adam. Family. Ohana, if Steve gets his way on the terminology. Just a classic Five-Oh night of beers and burgers and Steve is even convinced to pull out his guitar, strumming aimlessly, trying to remember patterns he has barely tried to recall in twenty-five years. Grace’s standard teenage snit has been boxed away for a few weeks, now, and Danny has no illusions that it’s gone for good, but he doesn’t miss it. Steve shows Charlie how to strum a chord, and his eyes grow so big that for a moment Danny abandons his premonition that the kid is going to be a cop — he could be a musician, right?

(Danny recalls to a frighteningly accurate degree the premonitions he’d had while dying in quarantine, with a bullet in his chest. He doubts none of them, for the most part. He thinks about Charlie graduating from the police academy, he imagines Grace’s wedding; the only one he doesn’t trust, because it’s too good to be true, is being old, on the beach, with Steve. Maybe he needs to embrace that image, and let himself believe. It’s better than the alternative. By a thousand miles.)

There are tearful farewells in the morning, at the airport, and then Danny drives Steve to the hospital. They are quiet, but Steve doesn’t object to Danny driving, and his hand is on Danny’s thigh, all the way to Tripler.

 

 

Danny wakes for the twentieth time. He couldn’t be less comfortable in this chair, but he’s not leaving. This was supposed to be day surgery, but if they’re going to make Steve stay the night, then he’s staying too. He’s not surprised to find Steve awake, and watching him. Steve coughs, and it sounds uncomfortable, but it’s hardly their biggest concern right now, so Danny pushes himself upright and sits on the edge of the bed.

“I can’t believe they haven’t kicked you out, by now,” Steve says.

“I can’t believe you thought they’d manage that. You okay? You feeling okay?”

“Yeah, Danno. I’m okay. The anesthetic knocked me around a bit, that’s all.”

Not something Dany is prepared to think about, or talk about, or even consider the story he’d heard of Steve’s confusion as he’d started to wake up; he’d been promised it had nothing to do with the radiation poisoning, and that was all he cared about. Anything else, they could deal with.

“How you feeling, babe?”

“Sore,” Steve admits. It’s kind of impressive, actually. No McGarrett bravado. An admission. Danny wants to smile, but it just seems wrong, under the circumstances.

“At least it’s done, now.” He takes Steve’s hand, and gives it a squeeze. “You’ll be back in the water in a few weeks. Which is fine by me, by the way, immediately after you wake me up and tell me you’re doing that. And there should be a little kissing in there somewhere too.”

“Should I be writing this down, or are you gonna remind me every day for the rest of our lives?”

“You bet I will. But yes, you should write it down, too. I’ll get you a pen, as soon as you can hold one. I’ll get you a notebook, actually. There are a lot of notes you should really be taking.”

Steve looks tired. So it’s no surprise he’s focused on Danny. Idiot. Idiot martyr. God, how Danny loves him.

“You should go home and get some sleep.”

“It’s cute how you say that like I’m not perfectly capable of sleeping sitting up. No, I’m not going anywhere.” Danny snakes a blanket from the other bed in the room and pulls the chair up close to Steve’s bed. He wraps himself up, sort of, not exactly effectively, crosses his arms on the bed and rests his face on his hands. “G’night. If anyone shows up to shoo me off, you have my express permission to shoot them.”

“So now I’m unarmed I’m suddenly allowed to shoot anyone I want?”

“In most of my sexual fantasies, you’re wearing at least one thigh holster. I’m focusing on that image right now. Go to sleep, grumpy. I love you.”

“ _I’m_ grumpy, now?”

“It’s a shared role.” Danny smiles at Steve’s light snickering.

“Yeah, yeah. Love you, Danno. Stop trying to keep me awake.”

 

 

The next couple of weeks were always going to suck, and suck they do. Steve never does well when his mobility is limited, and he sulks like he learned it from Grace (who is, ironically enough, still behaving like an angel — it can’t last, Danny knows that, but the positive reinforcement flows thick and fast). He’s in more pain than he’ll admit, and he won’t take anything stronger than Tylenol, which is ridiculous. Ten times the refusal power he’d been employing just four weeks ago. He is morose and argumentative and he’s sleeping so little, out of discomfort, that by Thursday Danny is almost ready to throw all ethical and legal considerations out the window and drug his iced tea. Heavily. For everyone’s sake.

By Friday night, though, Steve seems to have, through sheer force of will, settled himself down a little.

“You should get out for a while. Do some packing.”

Danny shrugs. “There’s no rush there. Thank you, but I want to be here to help if you need it, and even more importantly to make sure you don’t seal your shoulder up with duct tape and go swimming. I’m very aware of your track record taking the advice of your doctors. So. No.”

Steve stares out at the ocean for a long moment.

“Then I’ll come with you. If I have to be a lump on the couch, I can be a lump on your couch, while you pack. Okay, Danny? Please, I’m starting to lose my mind. I can’t stare at the water and just not get in it.”

Maybe Steve figured out early on that ‘please’ was a magic word, for Danny. Raised a gentleman, hearing the word ‘please’ makes it very difficult for him to say no. Well, usually. ‘Please can I have a pony’, ‘please can I go to Los Angeles with my friends’ and ‘please can we fill the bath with Jell-O had all been less successful than ‘please Danny, let’s go start packing’.

“Netflix and stay out from underfoot,” Danny says gravely, and Steve lights up like it’s Christmas. Danny wishes he knew why. Because the sooner it’s done, the sooner Danny will move in? Because he needs a change of scenery even more desperately than Danny thought?

Or does he just really, really like hearing Danny say yes?

Whatever the reason, when Steve smiles, it’s like the sun coming out, and Danny has all the inner fortitude of a wet rag. He stands between Steve’s knees on the couch, and Steve looks up hopefully. Reaches out to run his left hand over the back of Danny’s thigh, while his right stays obediently against his chest, in the dark blue box sling he’s sworn he will burn once this is all over.

He bats his stupidly long eyelashes once. Press button, get cookie. Danny leans down to kiss him, one of those slow, searing kisses that in other circumstances would be step one in a quick sequence that ended with Steve’s legs over Danny’s shoulders, upstairs in their big, comfortable bed.

“Netflix and stay out from underfoot,” Danny warns a second time. But there’s no heat in it. Only warmth.

It’s slow, boring work, punctuated from time to time with Danny taking a photograph of some furniture he’s getting rid of and putting it on a local classifieds website. He can’t believe how much stuff he’s accumulated since he had enough room to accumulate stuff in. Early evening, he tosses the tape and scissors aside and takes a shower, because he feels filthy, he’s soaked with sweat, and he wants to snuggle on the couch like a proper rock star.

“I called for Indian food,” Steve says smugly. “As soon as I heard the shower. Watch a movie with me, Danny.”

Danny sits on the end of the couch and Steve eases into his arms, flinching once or twice until he can get comfortable. The Indian place always takes forever, this time of the night, so they settle in. And though he’s not sleeping well at night, Steve starts dozing against Danny’s side, his breath evening out and his mouth parting slightly.

He’s so beautiful.

Danny runs his hand over Steve’s short hair, down to his neck, over his shoulders, and back again. He’s already lost interest in the war movie on the screen (you’d think Steve would avoid watching this crap, considering the decades of unaddressed trauma and everything, but nooo. War movies. Cop movies. He once said he’d like to be partnered with John McClane for a week or two, for kicks), and he’s focused on nothing but the weight of Steve’s body against him.

There’s so much to do.

Finishing the move, opening the restaurant… and Danny is greedy, he wants more than that. He wants time. Time like this, time for nothing but enjoying each other. Steve napping in his lap. Sleeping in the hammock. Watching Charlie play.

Steve shifts, and wakes briefly, draping his arm around Danny’s waist. It doesn’t look like he could possibly be comfortable, partly sprawled, partly twisted, but he looks content enough so that he could start purring any second. Steve McGarrett, who’d started out so prickly, and now he was as tactile as a proper Williams, especially when it came to Danny.

“We’re gonna have the best life, Danno,” he says, sleepily, and Danny grins, and pats his ass.

“We already are, babe,” he says. “I’m loving it.”

 

 

At the end of the second week, true to his word, Steve lets Danny accompany him to his appointment with the surgeon.

“You’re going to need to start using it some,” she says, extending his arm, testing the range of movement. “Hmm. Very nice. You’ve actually been resting it, haven’t you?”

“Danny’s had a gun to my head for the last two weeks. I haven’t had much choice.”

“And you’re taking the anti-inflammatories?”

“Yes ma’am.”

“Need a new prescription for pain killers?”

Steve hesitates, and looks at Danny.

“I don’t think he’s taken any since the first day home. Because he’s a Navy SEAL, and he doesn’t feel pain.”

She doesn’t like that. She shakes her head. “I swear, you boys. You act like it’s a badge of honor to put up with pain. It’s not. It raises your blood pressure, which slows your healing, gets in the way of healthy sleep — which incidentally also slows your healing. I know your medical history, Commander. You need to stay as healthy as you can, and that means, when you’re in pain, you treat it appropriately. Don’t get run down. Don’t court unnecessary stress. I could write these down on a prescription pad, if you like, what do you say?”

“Or we could take about PT,” Steve says, optimistically. “D’you think I could paint?”

“Paint? You mean, keep your arm extended for hours, repetitive movement, holding a paint roller? What do you think?”

Steve deflates a little.

“But you can start PT. They’ll give you exercises to do, probably three times a day. And that means you do them three times a day. Not five, not twenty. I promise you, I want you better as soon as possible so I don’t have to keep lecturing you, and in fact, with the sincere hope I never have to lay eyes on you in this hospital again.”

“I’m writing all of this down,” Danny deadpans. He is definitely not writing anything down, but he’s so smug Steve wants to kiss him, or punch him, or something.

“I’ll get you that referral. And I’ll see you again in another two weeks.”

 

 

Only days later, they’re sitting in the restaurant, waiting to be served dinner. The process of finding a chef had been an interesting one, but they were close enough now so that they’d decided to fly this one woman in from San Francisco and have her cook for them. Danny liked her because she was born and raised in New Jersey. Steve liked her because she was willing to take a lower starting salary than she should have been able to command, thrilled with the idea of shaping a place like this from the beginning, and knowing she’d be asking for a pay rise in a few months.

Despite being born and raised near the cold Atlantic ocean, among skyscrapers and gray-faced commuters, Frankie — Francesca — had fallen in love with the Pacific when she moved to San Francisco, and was very, very excited about the thought of living in Honolulu.

She and Kamekona had taken an instant liking to each other. Frankie was probably an inch shorter than Danny, curvy and muscular like she loved to be active as much as she loved to eat, with shirt, bristly dark hair. Jewish-Italian like Danny, but while his family tended toward blond, Frankie had olive skin and dark eyes.

Frankie and Kamekona in the kitchen were comical, but effective.

“What’s this called?” Steve asks, cutting into a crumbed ball of rice with a gooey, cheesy center. “This is good.”

“Arancini,” Danny says. “Yeah, it’s good. It’s very good. Taste this ravioli, babe. There’s a whole scallop in each one. And this white wine and sage cream sauce. This isn’t just Italian. This is… the is _Hawaiian fusion_ Italian. If someone had pitched this to me, no one would ever have found their body, but this, this is it. This is our thing. Fresh seafood, rice and pasta… Everyone’s gonna love this, Steve.”

Steve says nothing because he’s just bitten into the ravioli and he looks like he might _come_.

He puts his fork down, flinching minutely when he reaches out too quickly, and sits back against the chair.

“That was the second-best thing I ever had in my mouth,” he says. Danny grins, as Kamekona brings out three pasta dishes and puts them on the table.

“Frankie da _kine_ ,” he says. “We teaching each other all kind of things in there. She can cook pretty good for a haole,” he adds, giving Danny a wink. “I think we should keep her.” He heads back to the kitchen, but pauses by the saloon doors.

“There’s dessert, so don’t eat it all. I know you skinny guys can’t fit much in.” He gives a playful, happy grin, and returns to the kitchen.

“I guess we found our chef.”

“I guess we did.” Danny twirls pasta on his fork, catching some calamari on the tines, and sighs dramatically before popping it all into his mouth. “Which means we can start planning the soft opening. And, of course, the grand opening. At which point our lives will be hurled into chaos once again. Which should make you very happy.”

“If it gets too sedate, can I drive your car around the block?”

“No, you cannot. Okay, this looks like a traditional _amatriciana_.” Danny takes a mouthful, and almost keels over. “Oh, this is good. It can be stodgy, but it’s not. Well, that’s it. She’s our guy. She’s fantastic. My grandmother would be so happy to taste this she might weep. She’d want to adopt Frankie and keep her in the kitchen for the rest of her life.”

“It’s good, Danny,” he agrees, and Danny reaches across the table to wipe tomato sauce from his chin with his thumb, sucking it clean. The heat in Steve’s eyes is almost enough for Danny to say screw the dessert and let’s go home. The door opens, and a familiar smile slips past the entrance.

“Nahele! Buddy, pull up a chair, grab a fork. We found our chef. Are you hungry?” Steve looks pleased to see him, but Steve always looks pleased to see his people.

And it’s a stupid question; Nahele is always hungry. Nahele is usually eating. Nahele never stops, and he’s still as skinny and gangly as the day they met him. He grins, and sits down, leaning across the table to stab a ravioli with his fork.

“So did you think about what we talked about?” Steve asks, and Nahele’s face burns.

“Uh, yes, sir, I did. I don’t know how long it will take me to pay you back, but… I’d like to accept.”

“Hey,” Danny says, pointing a forkful of pasta at the kid. “No one said anything about paying us back. It’s an investment. You go to school, you work in the restaurant a few nights a week, you kick ass and you do what you love. That’s the whole deal, okay, that’s all you have to do. You get those forms filled out. And stop calling Steve sir. Junior is such a bad influence.”

Frankie and Kamekona emerge from the kitchen and join the table.

“We’d love you to come on board as head chef,” Steve says. “How quick can you move out here?”

“Very, very quickly,” she says. “If I can find an apartment in the next few days, I’ll be back in a week or so.” She puts a huge mouthful of angel hair pasta in her mouth and sighs happily. “The lime cream sauce really lifts that. I’m going to love it so much, here. The seafood is the best. Kamekona is amazing. I’m in. But the salary review?”

“Six months. We just need to get our feet under us. And we wanna do the soft opening on the 10th if that works for you.”

“That works for me,” she says, the same rapid-fire Jersey cadence Danny uses. “I’ll be working on the final menu over the next few days, and we can coordinate that over email. I need to look over the wine you’ve laid down so I can do some pairings, but you know what my first chef taught me, he was a smart guy, good guy, big family guy, you know, in fact _such_ a big family guy that I thought he might actually be _in the family_ , if you know what I mean — he said to me, he said, _Frankie, the only rule of food and wine matching is to eat food you like, with wine you like_. That’s always been my motto. But pairing the most expensive wines with the big draw dishes is a good way to boost sales, and we can’t pretend this is not a business.”

Oh, yeah, Danny loves her. Steve gives him a crinkly-eyed grin.

The desserts are fantastic, but that’s no surprise.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your patience, guys! Work is calming down again for a little while, so I got these finally edited and out. 
> 
> Also... I might have been sidetracked. By a McDanno college AU. I will be posting it only when it's finished, but let me tease with this; Steve is seriously injured during BUD/s, and takes a year at Rutgers. He meets Danny, and finally has to face what he's been trying not to think about for his whole life.
> 
> Feel free to come talk to me on tumblr! You can find me at [fuckyoupbk](http://fuckyoupbk.tumblr.com).


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which many things happen.

**August 2018**

 

When Steve pushes himself out of the water, Danny is sitting on his beach chair eating a toaster waffle and leering at him.

Steve rolls his shoulder — there’s still an ache, but even so… it’s been a couple of years since it felt this good. He’s trying not to overdo it, but swimming keeps him sane, keeps him _Steve_ , and he needs that. He smiles at Danny’s lecherous look, and then _Danny_ smiles, and when Danny smiles the entire world gets brighter. Steve leans over him for a warm morning kiss. The second, of course. Steve has never broken his promise; he wakes Danny, no matter how early, to kiss him before he gets up to swim. To do _anything_. Most of the time, he returns to their bedroom to find Danny still asleep, and there’s a few minutes of aimless canoodling before they get up.

“Looking good, babe,” Danny says. “Toaster waffle?”

“No. If I’m gonna eat a bunch of carbs this early in the morning they’re gonna be tastier than a toaster waffle. You’re up early.”

“You’re priceless. You don’t even know what day it is, do you. You neanderthal.” Danny shakes his head, but he doesn’t look annoyed. Not by Danny standards.

But Steve knows. “Painting day?”

“Rachel’s bringing the kids in about ten minutes. So whatever depraved fantasy you’re currently entertaining, however you’re thinking about violating this body of mine, it’s gonna have to wait, babe.”

“Painting day.” Steve grins, once he’s done pretending to be disappointed. His depraved plans can definitely wait until there’s an empty house. This is going to be fun.

 

 

Steve still isn’t sure that Charlie really understands about moving house. Or maybe he just doesn’t care. Charlie likes his people nearby, and bouncing from Rachel’s to Danny’s to Steve’s never fazes him because that’s where his people are. Once his bed is in his new room, that will be his bedroom, and he’ll be fine with it.

He’s a lot like Danny, that way, although Danny probably wouldn’t see it that way.

Charlie is delighted with the whole moon and rocket ship idea, though Steve suspects this might be because he’s delighted by everything, and if they’d said they were going to paint his room like the inside of a whale’s stomach he’d be just as smiley. Steve has him directing the procedures, which mostly means Charlie is watching with utter delight, and each time Steve asks him “should I paint the window now?” or whatever he’s up to, Charlie says yes like it’s the best idea ever, and then sits with Eddie on the ground again.

Eddie loves Charlie. Eddie loves everyone. Maybe that’s the whole thing. Because Charlie and Eddie love everything and everyone, they’re kindred spirits.

Next door, Steve can hear Danny and Grace talking about college. What she wants to do, where she wants to go — it’s hard, Steve knows, wanting her to go out into the world and experience everything life has to offer, and wanting her here where he can see her and know she’s alright. She doesn’t even know what she wants to study, yet. She talks about marine biology a lot, working with dolphins, but that’s starting to sound like something she’s been slowly growing out of. Like Disney princesses and wanting everything to be pink. She’s chosen a soft gray for her room; there’s a hint of purple in it that Steve thinks the afternoon sun will play up. It’s an adult color.

The thought makes him a little sad, too.

He coughs, and blinks, and feels dizzy for a moment. Tired.

“Is there really a moon, uncle Steve?”

“You’ve seen it, buddy. Up there with all the stars.” Steve pats his chest, standing straight again, and reaches for the water glass on the dresser.

“Are there people up there?”

“No, but some people have visited.”

“Can we visit?”

“You could become an astronaut and go to space, buddy. Not until you’re taller. Much taller. Should I put a star up here?”

“Yes!!”

It takes hours. Grace’s room is done before lunch, and the three of them spend the rest of the day on Charlie’s room, which makes him so happy he almost seems to zone out. He drapes himself over Eddie and naps for a while — looks like he couldn’t possibly be comfortable, but he naps.

“What’s a soft opening?” Grace asks.

“Well, it’s invitation only,” Danny says. “We invite friends and family — we thought you could have a table, if you want, monkey, invite some of your friends, and it’s you’re decision but we’d like one of those friends to be Kevin Cole, if that’s okay with you. And we invite some food critics so they’ll be able to rave about us in their glossy magazines. Figure out if anything doesn’t work, you know, the way the kitchen runs when it’s busy. And no one pays. And then a week later, we open for real.”

Grace nods solemnly, carefully tracing a darker gray over the lip of a crater. She’s a perfectionist. Another trait of Danny’s, one Steve shares, and one he knows can serve you well or break your back — or both.

They put the finishing touches on the walls around pizza o’clock, and while Charlie has another nap, this time on the couch instead of the dog, Steve and Grace make salad to go with the inevitable pizza.

“Are you excited?” she asks, carefully slicing cucumber.

“I am. It’s gonna be great.”

“Did you always want to have a restaurant?”

Steve snickers. “Naw, Gracie, this was Danny’s dream. But he wanted me to do it with him, and making Danno happy makes me happy. Once we got started, I don’t know… I liked the idea more and more. And I didn’t like…”

Grace slices for a few more moments, and then looks up at Steve expectantly. He played himself, being honest with her all those weeks ago. He’s stuck with it, now.

“When he told me he wanted to open a restaurant, all I could think about was him not being my partner anymore, and I didn’t really want to do that.”

“That’s so romantic.” Grace reaches for a cucumber and starts to slice it, too, just as neatly.

Steve laughs. “I suppose it is. I never really thought about it that way, but you’re right, Gracie. I probably should have figured all of this stuff out a lot sooner than I did. I got there in the end, though, right? Next weekend when the paint fumes are gone from your rooms, you can unpack in there, and make it all your own. You got all your stuff, right?”

“All that’s left at Danno’s is the stuff he’s giving away to charity.”

It’s been thrilling, watching Danny’s things come from the bungalow to the house. The extra books in the bookshelves, Danny’s clothes filling his half of the wardrobe, strange implements appearing in the kitchen (“It’s a spiralizer, Steven. You can make pretend spaghetti out of zucchini. Grace got it for me. I’m sure it will come in handy if I’m ever depressed enough to not want real pasta”). The box of Christmas decorations in the attic, and the new framed photos dotted here and there, mostly of the kids.

The only thing they are yet to do is clear out John’s den, because every time Steve starts trying to work on it, he sees blood spatter, and hears a gunshot, and can’t do it. At some point, he might have to ask Danny to just make arrangements. It all has to go. All the furniture. All the papers. Everything but the photo albums. It needs to be painted, and the carpet needs to be replaced, and the curtains, too, and then, when there is no trace of what it used to be, Steve will feel okay about being in there again. _Soon_ , he promises himself.

Steve yawns, and rubs his eyes. His shoulder is aching, though not badly, but he feels more tired than he should. He gives himself a moment to rest, and hears Danny upstairs, coming out of the shower and slipping into their bedroom to change his clothes.

“I’m okay, just tired,” he promises Grace, when she gives him a look, and pulls his wallet out to count off a couple of bills for the pizza, which has to be nearly there.

Grace nods seriously, and reaches for a yellow pepper. “Are you sure, dad?” she asks.

Steve freezes with his hands under the tap. Not for too long. There’s so much he wants to say; was that an accident? Is this the sub-out for ‘uncle Steve’? Grace is eyeing him from under her long, dark eyelashes, and Steve wraps a hand around the back of her head and kisses the top of her hair.

“Yeah, Grace Face. I’m really good. Really good.”

She doesn’t say anything, but she smiles, and looks pretty pleased with the reaction, so Steve doesn’t make a deal out of it either. He cleans up the kitchen and sets the table before Danny comes down.

 

 

“It’s hard to say goodbye to them,” Steve says, the following morning, as they watch Rachel drive the kids away.

“Listen to you,” Danny says, as he pulls the door closed behind them. He sounds amused, but he’s got the big Danny Williams sad face on beneath the smile, and Steve knows he hates it, hates that he can’t have them there all the time. It’s Sunday. They should be staying all day, but things have been friendly, lately, and when Rachel asked if she could swap the day for another one soon (apparently some kind of party; probably a test for whether she and Stan can stay civil around friends for an entire evening, though the man can’t grill for shit despite the biggest and most complicated barbecue Steve’s ever seen in his life and the kids would have a lot more fun here) Danny had let them go. But Sunday suddenly looks like a very long day, and after the hour it takes to get Charlie’s room set up the rest of the way, and put Grace’s boxes in her room (they set up the new bed, but if they open those boxes, she’s likely to decide to go to college in Australia where the drinking age is eighteen and Danny’s not having that), there doesn’t seem to be much left to do. So they stretch out on the couch and watch the football game they’d TiVo’d the night before (Danny’s legs are lying across Steve’s thighs, splendidly hairy and muscular, giving him a whole lot of ideas about what they could do later) and though the game is a good one, fast-paced and eventful, neither of them are invested enough to be very interested.

“You wanna go for a swim, babe?”

Steve gives Danny a sly smile. “Which face is it that tells you I need to do some exercise?”

“It’s not the face. Your leg’s jiggling. It’s lucky for you I don’t carry a gun anymore. You wanna go surfing?”

“In the middle of the day, in peak tourist season? Not even at knifepoint.” He rolls toward Danny, and rests his head in Danny’s lap, arms around his waist, so they’re curled up like a braid, and Danny runs his hand over Steve’s hair.

“Have we got restaurant stuff to do?”

“Menus are done, and all Frankie’s wine stuff. Invitations went out for the soft opening. Unless you wanna go over there and polish the glasses again, then I don’t think so.”

Danny sounds restless, but he’s not fidgeting, and Steve is comfortable, so he doesn’t move. Doesn’t really want to move. He does nudge the hem of Danny’s t-shirt up and mouth at his stomach, because it’s there, and he’s allowed, and he doesn’t miss the way Danny shivers, the little growl he makes, or the way his knees tighten around Steve’s ribcage.

“You wanna go upstairs and fool around?”

“ _Fool around_? What are we, fifteen? I’m forty-two years old, Steve. I don’t fool around.”

“I’m the same age as you.”

“No, you’re nineteen and idiotic, same as you have been your entire life.”

“Want go upstairs and fuck?”

Danny laughs. “Now that, I do.”

 

 

It’s chaos, yes. But it’s exhilarating chaos. Everyone is dressed up, looking amazing. Grace and Lucy are meeting guests at the door in dresses that make them both look frighteningly grown up, leading them to their assigned tables. Until the rest of the juvenile delinquents arrive, and their table fills with chatter. Steve eyes the bottle in the middle of the table; he’s given them sparkling apple juice and champagne glasses, and he wouldn’t put it past any of them to try and switch it out for a bottle of the real thing.

“You still look like James Bond,” Danny says, and Steve slings an arm across his shoulder and laughs out loud. “And I still look like a waiter.”

“You look like a million bucks,” Steve says, pulling him closer and kissing him lightly on the lips. “And everything’s gonna go great tonight, Danny, just wait. Did I already say happy birthday?”

“Repeatedly, babe. And to you too.” They don’t want or need to make a huge deal out of it; but there’s something special about their birthdays being on consecutive days. And of course, there’s the added bonus that it makes a total mockery of the zodiac.

Just then, Rachel and Stan arrive, with Charlie taking the lead, and Charlie races across the restaurant to fling himself at Danny’s legs.

“Hey, little man! Did you get taller this week while I wasn’t watching? I think we talked about that.”

“No, Danno,” Charlie promises, all wide eyes, wearing a white shirt and a pink bow tie with a unicorn print over a pair of blue shorts.

“You look very handsome, sport,” Steve says, ruffling his hair. “Can’t even believe it. Just like your Danno.”

Waitresses move carefully around the room, offering appetizers and drinks, and Steve and Danny shake everyone’s hands — friends, family, the Governor, who is looking more casual than they’re used to. Governor Mahoe has a beautiful woman on her arm, who Steve thinks he recognizes from a court case a year or two ago. He thinks she might work in the district attorney’s office. Samoan, he thinks.

“Thank you for coming, Governor,” Steve says, shaking her hand.

“It looks amazing, and I have to admit the scent of garlic in the air is promising. Steve McGarrett, Danny Williams, meet my partner, Teuila Snuka.”

“Ah, we’ve met,” Danny says, shaking the woman’s hand. “Couple of years ago. You cross-examined a drug trafficker Five-Oh collared for over an hour in court and I still get chills thinking about it.” He reaches for a waitress’s arm, and rescues a couple of glasses of champagne, handing them over.

“We put you on our table, with the team.”

“As long as we’re not sitting with anyone from the Chamber of Commerce we’ll be fine,” Teuila says, and raises the glass to her lips. “Salut.”

When they’ve gone to take their seats, Danny turns to Steve, panic in his wide eyes. “Steve, I am freaking out. I am really freaking out, here. What if this goes wrong. What if we’re terrible at this.”

“We’re not gonna be terrible at this. We’ve got Kamekona and Frankie in the kitchen, we’ve got a dining room full of people who love us…” He coughs lightly, and pats his chest, not letting Danny say whatever he was going to interrupt with. “And we’ve worked really hard, and this is gonna be amazing, Danny, just wait. You’ll see.”

The wait staff start to collect orders from the tables that are full, as the last few stragglers arrive and take their seats. The music being piped over the stereo is big band, which Steve still isn’t sold on, but he has to admit there’s some energy in the place, and he likes it. Although he and Danny will be on their feet for half the night, their seats with the team will be there waiting. Steve takes his place next to Tani, and Danny sits beside him, leaning in when Steve rests his arm over his shoulder again.

“I can’t pronounce this,” Tani says, gesticulating at the plated appetizer in front of her. “But it’s so good. So, so good. If I ever end up on death row, I want this to be my last meal.”

“I’ll make a note of that,” Junior answers. He still eats like there’s a risk of his food being taken by someone faster, but he looks pleased as well. Grover and Renee are eating off each other’s plates, and Renee is saying something very pointed about Lou having a night off from worrying about his cholesterol — but _only one night_.

Steve feels tears burn his eyes, but he blinks them away. For some reason, whenever he’s a little emotional about something, Danny knows, and steps up. Probably the best way for Steve to pull Danny out of an anxiety spiral is to have one of his own.

“You okay?”

“I never imagined my life might be like this,” Steve says, pinching the tears away and giving Danny a big smile. “Now, tell me, the reviewer sitting next to Rachel, does she look happy? Can you see her?”

Jerry nods. “I can see her. She just had one of those aranch— … er, the rice balls with the cheese in the middle? She just bit into one of those and I’m pretty sure she made an o-face.”

Everyone groans, but Danny has to interject. He raises his hand. “That’s very good news, Jerry, but maybe you could have stopped with mentioning that she looks happy. That’s my preference. If you could remember for later. Where are the others?”

“I don’t know which one is which, because I didn’t manage the RSVPs. But I’m pretty sure the guy in the blue toucan shirt with white sauce in his beard is enjoying himself. And the bombshell in the red dress sitting next to Duke — she’s from _Lifestyle_.”

“Bombshell? Are you trying to get Danny jealous?” Tani says, laughing. “She is cute, though. And she’s smashing through whatever’s on that plate.”

 

 

By some miracle, there are no disasters. It all runs smooth as silk, everyone has a good time, and Frankie and Kamekona come out to have a quick dinner while everyone else is eating dessert, making faces that definitely skirt the obscene. The kids’ table looks like it’s the most fun one to be on, the kids swapping desserts every few minutes and laughing uproariously at something or other.

“You gonna do the thing?” Danny asks Steve, giving him a nudge.

“Yeah, I guess I should,” he says. “But you’re gonna help, right?”

Danny shrugs, and balls his napkin up, tossing it on the chair as he stands and follows Steve to the bar. Steve taps a dessert spoon against the stem of his champagne glass, and the room begins to fall silent.

“Thank you, everyone, for being here,” Steve says. “Danno and I can’t tell you how much it means to us that you all came. We, ah… it took us a year to get here, what with the electrical problems… and the Uncle Vito problems…”

“Hey, kid,” Uncle Vito calls, from Stan’s elbow. “You wanna watch that smart mouth of yours.”

There’s a smattering of laughter around the restaurant, and then it stops. Steve drapes his arm across Danny’s shoulders again. Since they started all of this, he’s never liked the moments when they’re not touching, somehow, when they’re close enough to touch.

“We’re all here tonight because I believe in Danny Williams, because I believe in us. Because we made great partners at Five-Oh and I knew we’d be great partners here, as well. And tonight’s success — well, that’s down to Danny, who had a dream, and everyone who helped us to make it come true. Especially Frankie and Kamekona.”

Kamekona looks delighted, and bumps against Frankie’s arm. Somehow, she doesn’t fall off her chair. She does blush a little, though. Steve glances between her and Kamekona. Could they…?

It’s a question for another day.

Without being asked, people have started to charge their glasses.

“To Danny Williams,” he says, ignoring Danny’s protest.

“To Steve McGarrett,” Danny tries to say, but everyone is already repeating Steve’s toast, and his voice disappears in the wash of sound.

They kiss chastely, and everyone applauds.

It’s a better night than Steve could have ever imagined.

 

 

In the morning, they sleep in. If this business is going to mean finishing work at midnight or later, Steve has realized, he’s going to have to rethink his definition of an early morning — but today, today he just wants to make out lazily under the covers, with Danny all warm and sleepy beneath him, scratching through the hair that’s getting longer and biting at his collarbones.

“I have to pee,” Danny says, rolling out of bed and stomping to the ensuite.

“Let me know how it goes,” Steve replies, letting his eyes fall closed again.

When Danny returns, he opens their underwear drawer and rummages for a pair of boxers, which is slightly disappointing. He stops quickly, though, spinning around, lifting a ring box and shaking it at Steve.

“I can not believe you still have this, Steve. Not only is it a complete waste of money, but didn’t your fight with Lynn point out to you in very stark terms that it’s not a good idea to keep an engagement ring after someone’s left you? In case your new squeeze gets the wrong idea?”

Steve smiles. “Aw, Danno. It’s so nice, though. Take a look.”

Danny shakes his head, and rolls his eyes. “I somehow doubt that, unless you took advice from someone with much better taste than —”

He opens the box. And freezes.

“I was gonna ask you last night, Danny. When we were thanking everyone. And then I decided it wasn’t fair to have an audience, in case, you know, in case you’re not ready, or you don’t want to. I mean, it’s not… you don’t have to, obviously, is what I’m saying. Marriage is so archaic. And we’ve been doing everything in the wrong order, I think, so…”

“Okay, babe, stop stammering.”

“I don’t stammer.”

“You got something you wanna ask me?”

Danny closes the ring box and tosses it to Steve, who catches it in one hand, and pushes himself across the bed, sitting on the edge of the mattress. He takes the ring from the box, and takes Danny’s hand.

He hesitates for a moment. “Is this enough ceremony, though? I mean, I’m naked.”

“I happen to like you naked. We’re both naked. Stop overanalyzing, babe. Hey, while I’m thinking with my dick I’m less like to notice this is fucking crazy.”

“Danny…”

“Although. A couple of candles, maybe a glass of champagne, some nice music — I mean, given the state of undress we’re in, you know, I wouldn’t want Flippa sitting in the corner doing the Elvis-on-a-ukulele thing…”

“Danny, I think this is supposed to be my big moment. You’re hurting my feelings a little bit, here, I think you should know —”

“Oh, your _feelings_? You notice the only time in your life that you ever wanna talk about feelings is when yours are hurt? Huh?”

There comes a point in a bicker fight this inane where trying not to laugh becomes an almost fruitless exercise, and Steve can feel the corners of his mouth curling up.

“Danny…”

“You’re right, I should be enjoying this. Seems like the kind of thing you’d usually just Shanghai me into.”

Their eyes meet, sparkling, and Steve stands up, and shoves the ring onto Danny’s finger.

“I’m making you my husband,” he says. “We’re gonna get along great.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry I dropped off the face of the earth! I started working on a college AU, and it had me by the short and curlies. It is finished and I'm posting a chapter a day. It's called [The Bareknuckle Poet](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16518467/). Now that it is done I am well and truly back into this one.
> 
> The next couple of chapters are nearly done. I strongly suggest that before I publish them you buy chocolate, tissues, and if you're so inclined, whiskey. xoxo


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When all is going well, there's bound to be a spanner just ready to crawls into the works and make a mess.

**August 2018**

 

“Okay, listen to this — _the exotic mushroom and saffron risotto exquisitely set off a perfectly seared ahi steak so fresh it might have been caught that morning. The balsamic reduction drizzled over a neat green salad finished the dish with a surprising flash of sweetness._ Not bad, huh? Huh?”

Steve sips his smoothie and scrambles eggs in the pan while Danny, his left hand once again weighted by a ring, sits on the countertop in board shorts, reading the review on his tablet.

“Told you that one was a winner, babe. Of course, I resent Frankie for doing it better than me…”

“As good as, Danny, yours was great.”

“Yeah but she does a great vegetable stock. And listen to this: _the matcha sorbet with lime coconut_ … that sounds too Hawaiian. Much too Hawaiian. Did we approve that?”

“Yeah, after you made an orgasm face and said it was too Hawaiian.”

“Whatever, they loved it. _Finished the meal crisply without detracting from the limoncello digestif_. I gotta send this to Ma.”

Steve grins, serving up the eggs and taking another spit of his smoothie. He coughs, lightly, and punches his chest, shaking his head. “Okay, find another one.”

“I don’t want to ruin the mood, babe, but that cough has been hanging around for a while, now.”

“Yeah, but it’s not bad. Doesn’t even hurt. I’m probably allergic to not shooting at people. Or not getting shot at.”

Danny shakes his head. “If it’s not gone soon, I’m dragging you to the doctor. For right now, though, we’re going to read some more reviews, and then I am gonna fuck your brains out, and then we’re gonna spend the rest of the morning arguing over wedding details. Okay, here’s another one: _For an Italian purist, this menu is daunting. But the carbonara reminds me of a trip I took to Rome, with just enough garlic so my wife didn’t make me sleep on the couch._ Hey, that’s nice. We didn’t cause a divorce. Is that a good review? Sounds like they were saying it was adequate.”

“Naw, Danny, he’s saying it’s spot-on traditional. You wanna eat on the lanai?”

All of the reviews are either four or five stars, and by the time they’ve read through them all, and eaten breakfast, both Danny and Steve are feeling pretty smug. Danny doesn’t even have that burning in the pit of his stomach that says he’s definitely getting an ulcer that will one day drive him to an early grave.

And also, he’s getting married, so there’s that.

Danny is the marrying type. Danny’s been the marrying type since he was in short pants; it’s the reason his divorce had almost killed him, the reason he’d fought so hard to get his parents to give it another shot (he really needs to call them today and share the news, and maybe Steve would like to call his mom, though if he doesn’t want to, that’s okay). It’s the reason he’s ebullient at weddings. Some people are fine on their own. Some people never feel like they’re incomplete, living alone, sleeping alone, traveling on their own, but the most stark indicator of whether or not Danny is okay is whether or not he’s sharing his life with someone he loves. And no, he’s not saying you need to be married for that, but he likes it. He likes a shared surname, though that’s unlikely to happen here and that’s okay too. But more than that he likes people looking at his hand and knowing he has someone. The assurance, the promise that there’s a relationship they’ve both committed to, and are prepared to work at.

In a strange way he thinks this will be a lot easier with Steve than it was with Rachel. He’d never felt like he quite met her standards, never. They’d dated so briefly, she’d fallen pregnant, they’d been married before she was even showing — at the time Danny had called it a whirlwind romance, but in retrospect, they’d married before they even knew they liked each other enough to try to maintain a relationship.

He and Steve… it’s been rocky, sure, but they’ve built a much more solid foundation beneath them than he had with Rachel. And Steve may have mastered the big lost owl eyes that bring Danny to his knees sometimes but he never makes Danny feel inadequate.

Well, hell, compared to Steve, Danny is a relationship _ninja_. Which says nothing especially good about either of them.

It’s been nice, though, that even if it took Danny to get them to take the… next first step, he supposes you might call it — since then, Steve’s been taking the lead, trying to think up the next thing they should do. Danny refuses to let himself wonder if Steve is trying to fit in as much living as he can before he starts dying. That’s what everyone does, right? Everyone’s dying one day, and you do what you can with the time you have, try not to waste too much of it.

Danny’s done wasting any of it.

“I feel like we should celebrate,” Steve says, as he lets his cutlery rattle onto his empty plate.

“We celebrated last night.”

“That wasn’t a celebration, Danny, that was a soft opening!”

“What do you know about soft openings? You never ever heard those words strung together until I said them to you. It was a celebration. People were celebrating, and that’s the criteria. Eat, drink and be merry. Right?”

“Well, then we should have an engagement party.”

“We should probably focus on telling people, for now. You know. Also, can you please sit still for just a little while, babe, because at the end of the week we open for real and then we’re going to be busy 24/7 again. You might decide you’d rather be getting shot at.”

Steve rolls his eyes. “Fine, so who are you gonna tell?”

“Grace and Charlie, first, which also means Rachel. By the way, I don’t know if you were paying attention last night but she and Stan were being very very civil with each other. My parents, My sisters, Eric. And the team. You?”

“The team.”

Danny waits to hear if there’s anyone else.

“I mean, the ohana, yeah, not just Five-Oh.”

Danny raises his eyebrows.

“What?”

“What does ohana mean again?”

“Oh, and I’m the neanderthal? Danny, you know what ohana means, it means family. It means the people you call your family.”

“Ah.”

He’s silent for another long moment. Steve isn’t any better with silence than Danny is. He starts jiggling his leg, staring out at the water, tries to check the time and realizes he doesn’t have his watch on. Gives Danny an appraising look and then ups the ante on the leg jiggling until the tectonic plates start shifting and Danny has to roll his eyes.

“So in the scheme of things. Who is Doris?”

“Danny, don’t start.”

“Alright.” Danny shrugs, and carefully loads up the last mouthful of eggs, spinach and mushrooms, wondering what it will take for Steve to tolerate the presence of bacon in the fridge.

Steve is right, though. They should celebrate. They should do something. Maybe even just take the kids out for shave ice. Danny quietly carries the plates inside, while Steve glares at the horizon. He’s got the dishwasher mostly packed when Steve comes back inside, having worked up a head of steam.

“I have radiation poisoning. I’ve resigned from Five-Oh. Opened a restaurant with you. We’re gettin’ married, Danny. You live here — Grace called me dad, on painting day.”

Danny feels prickles behind his eyes. He’d been sure something happened between them, and he cracks a smile.

“I’m not just making the best of a bad situation, here, Danno. I’ve made a bunch of decisions that are best for me. Good for me. Things that can make me happy, and you know what I really hate? I hate that sooner or later Doris is gonna find out what’s going on here and she’s not gonna be happy for me — she’s just gonna want to know why.”

Danny leans his elbows on the island countertop.

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“She walked out of your life a very long time ago and since she came back into it, she hasn’t really been around. It’s up to you, Steve, what you do.”

Steve narrows his eyes. “But?”

“No buts.”

“… Alright.”

“Except —”

“How is that different to a ‘but’?”

“Listen to me — the thing is, Steve, you only get one mom and she wasn’t much of one to you, okay, I do understand that. But I know you’d give anything for one more chance to have a relationship with your dad, and it’s too late.”

“You don’t even like my mom.”

“Not much, no, because she hurt you, and I don’t stand for anyone hurting people that I love and I love you very much. And more to the point, I don’t trust her. You, I like. You I _love_ , you I _trust_ , and you need to decide this for yourself. But make the decision. Don’t let time make the decision for you.”

Steve deflates, crossing his arms and leaning against the counter. He looks like he’s planning to refuse to be cheered up, but as Danny comes to stand between his feet, Steve’s expression softens, and though he looks like he’s doing his best to resist, he loops his arms around Danny’s waist. Still sulking, though.

“Let me see if Rachel will let us take the kids out for ice cream. That seems like a pretty good celebration, what do you think.”

“Yeah, Danno,” Steve says, letting some of the haunted expression on his face slip away. “Let’s do that.”

 

 

Charlie is delighted but that is his default mode. Grace, on the other hand, almost has a seizure, she’s so excited. There’s a lot of hugging. There’s hugging from Rachel, too, though Stan isn’t at the house and everyone is too polite to ask where he is. Rachel doesn’t even look all that rueful as she congratulates them both, with an expression on her face like she’s been holding her breath and waiting for this.

They call Danny’s parents from the ice cream bar over face time and the reaction is so over the top that Danny starts wishing they’d eloped and then told everyone. And then Bridget, and Stella… and suddenly the absence of Matt in their lives is fresh again.

He’d been Danny’s best man the first time around, and he should be now. But it’s not to be.

“So when are you getting married?” Grace wants to know.

“It might be a little while, Monkey, because uncle Chin and auntie Abby want to come and they’ve got twins coming at Christmas. So maybe next summer.”

“Don’t you think I’m too old to be called Monkey anymore dad?”

“Too big and grown up? I tell you what, you can graduate to Gorilla if you like.” Which Charlie also finds delightful. Steve slings his arm across Danny’s shoulders. It’s not like it’s new; they’ve been crowding each other from day one. But it feels different.

He feels good. Not even Eddie, the great slobbering dope, resting his head on Danny’s lap, wagging his tail hopefully while he stares at the ice cream can stop him from feeling good.

And then, the team. Old and new. And Frankie and Kamekona (and damn if Danny doesn’t think he might have interrupted a moment in the kitchen there). There’s a lot of congratulating, but there’s not a lot of surprise.

 

 

They’re sated, and spent, stretched across the bed with the breeze from outside ghosting over sweaty bodies. Fingers linked loosely.

The restaurant opens tomorrow. The week went much too fast.

“Do you want to elope? You know, it doesn’t have to be a huge thing,” Danny says, because anxiety about the following day has his mind buzzing, and though Steve just sucked his brains out via his dick, he can’t stop thinking. Skipping from the restaurant, to the wedding, to Grace going to college and this weird impending doom that shows up sometimes to tell him Charlie is exactly like Danny, will wear his heart on his sleeve for his entire life and is going to get hurt.

“Is that what you want?” Steve asks, carefully, though he’s holding his breath suddenly.

“I asked first. You know, babe, I want to be your husband. That doesn’t mean I need the whole big… I mean, my wedding day with Rachel might have been the most stressful day of my life. And yes, I’m counting the day that proximity sensor in that bomb was wearing a red hole in my shirt.”

Steve is quiet for a long time. “Honestly?”

“Of course, babe.”

Steve shifts his body until he has his head resting on Danny’s stomach, arms looped around him gently. His hair’s getting longer. Nicer to touch, and Danny touches. He has a moment of déjà vu. Not even sure exactly when from, but he thinks maybe after Steve was almost tortured to death by Wo Fat. Those days holed up right here in the house, where Steve had started to panic whenever he was on his own for more than a few minutes, brain still struggling to figure out what was real and what was imagined.

Great, something else to worry about.

“I know it probably sounds a little bit dumb, or whatever, and we’re not, you know, like twenty year olds getting married and doing things the usual way…”

“Okay, woah, woah, slow down, Alain Prost. Twenty is way too young to get married, and I know you were off chasing down terrorists at that age and a little out of touch, but we have a daughter who is not allowed to get married until she’s at least thirty. So take it down a notch, please, thank you.”

Steve snorts. “Okay. Can I finish my sentence, though? I know you don’t like me doing that very much.” Danny flicks his ear. “Ow. Okay, but… you know, if you really wanted to sneak off to Vegas and come back hitched or something like that, I’d be happy with it. I just wanna marry you. But to tell you the truth, Danno, I like having my people around.”

Danny’s about to tell him that’s okay, that’s fine, but there’s something about the tension in his shoulders that says he’s not finished talking.

“When I decided to stay in Hawaii, I loved living alone. After years of having no choice who I lived with, it felt freeing. Being by myself. You remember when Jerry stayed with me? I was crawling out of my skin about a week in. But when he was gone…”

Danny scratched through the shorter hairs on the back of Steve’s neck, and Steve gave a shiver, moving until his head was on Danny’s chest, instead of his stomach. Ear over his heart.

“And I was making this new family. It was so alien that I didn’t even know that was what I was doing, until I got it right. And then I started hating being on my own.”

“I did notice you liked showing up at my place with no notice and no real purpose, babe. I can read between the lines.”

Steve snorts. “I just… I didn’t do a lot of choosing, in my life. Until I accepted the job running the task force. And now — I like having my people around. I need that. And yeah, we could elope. It would be faster, simpler, and Danno, I want to be your husband, I want you to be my husband. But it’s not gonna be the same if we don’t have our people around. All of them.”

Danny smiles to himself, and moves his hand, running over the slightly raised skin on Steve’s arms, the tattoos there.

“What do you think?”

“I think it sounds expensive, and hard to organize, and perfect,” Danny murmurs, kissing the top of Steve’s head. His mind miraculously stills, and they’re asleep in a few minutes.

 

 

The first week runs like a dream. There are fewer catastrophes than Danny had anticipated, although as a man prone to anticipating disaster, that shouldn’t be a surprise. The restaurant is closed Monday and Tuesday (for now, at least) and they’re putting off any decisions about a lunch trade until things have settled more, but already, Danny wants to try it. Maybe in a couple of months. They’re solidly booked for Christmas parties (which is insane, by the way, because that’s months off, but apparently they are currently the hip new thing and that’s a reputation they really need to ride for the first year at least, if they want to survive).

The second week runs like a dream.

The third week, Doris McGarrett shows up.

 

 

It’s a good thing she didn’t actually come to the restaurant, though Danny suspects she went by to check it out. When they get home, she’s sitting on the couch with her arms crossed and a look on her face like Steve broke fucking curfew. It really doesn’t help that since it’s Sunday night and they don’t have the kids he and Steve were working pretty hard at getting each other’s clothes off the second they got through the door.

“Doris,” Steve says, buttoning his slacks.

“Oh, are you back to that?” she says. “I thought we’d settled on ‘mom’ again. No? Alright. Daniel, if you’ll excuse us? I need to talk to my son.”

Oh, hell, no.

“Anything you want to say to me, you can say in front of Danny,” Steve says, slipping his jacket off his shoulders, and Danny straightens his posture, sticking his hands into his pockets. “What are you doing here?”

“Well, my son resigned from the task force he built from the ground up, opened a restaurant and apparently got himself engaged to his partner, all without calling his mother once — what did you think I’d do, Steven?”

“Jeeze, Steve, I think she’s gonna ground you,” Danny says. It feels good, actually, he’s sort of forgotten how much fun it can be to get really, really petty. “Doris, you might want to keep in mind that he’s a grown adult capable of making his own decisions.” He wouldn’t have said it, but Steve’s face is white, except where his cheeks are pink, and he looks like he can’t decide between wanting the ground to swallow him whole and hoping that Five-Oh will call with some kind of emergency.

“A life of service,” Doris says, getting to her feet. “It’s what you signed up for. It’s what I signed up for, Steve. It’s who we are. And you’re throwing that away for an early retirement to run a goddamn restaurant?”

The air in the room could actually catch alight.

“Alright, we need to take it down a notch,” Danny says.

“Hi, mom. Nice to see you, mom. Want an itemized list of everything else that you’ve missed? I have radiation poisoning. The chances are pretty good that I’m gonna die of cancer long before whatever age you think it is that’s suitable for me to retire.”

It’s like a knife to Danny’s gut. Steve dying is not an option, but this isn’t the moment to remind him of that.

Doris crosses her arms.

“I didn’t know. You didn’t tell me.”

“You faked your death when I was fifteen years old and spent the next nineteen years having absolutely no idea what was going on in my life. What I share with you now is completely up to me. I hope you have a reservation somewhere, because Charlie and Grace prefer not to share their bedrooms. That was a hint for you to leave.”

And he’s up the stairs, and Doris is standing in the living room gaping, and Danny still has his hands in his pockets.

Funny how he’s a bundle of neuroses until someone really needs him not to be.

“It might be a good idea for you to leave,” he says, quietly.

“I’ll go to the Hilton. But this conversation is not over.”

“Well, that’s up to Steve, really, Doris, but my very strong suggestion to you is that if you don’t want attempt number two to go as badly as attempt number one did, you talk less and listen more.”

Doris opens her mouth. Looks like she’s thinking on tearing Danny a new hole, but he raises his hand and shakes his head.

“He’s been through a lot. For a lot of years. He’s a big boy and he can make his own decisions. Try to keep that in mind. I’ll show you out.”

Doris’s gaze is fixed on the stairs.

“He has radiation poisoning?”

“Yeah. Side effect from saving Hawaii from a dirty bomb. He might live another five years or another fifty. Either way, he’s gonna live it his own way. Please don’t show up tomorrow without calling first.”

Doris seems to deflate. But she slings her handbag over her shoulder, and extends the handle on her suitcase, and she’s gone.

When Danny heads upstairs to bed, Steve is curled in a ball, facing the wall. Which is okay, it’s fine. Danny strips off his clothes and curls himself around Steve’s back, and pretends he can’t feel the fever of unshed tears on his face.

 

 

It’s really not a huge surprise when Danny wakes alone. He makes a jug of coffee and takes two mugs down to the beach. He sits in his chair, and sips slowly, watching the water for signs of Steve returning.

When he emerges from the water (looking fucking _mythical_ , holy Jesus did Danny hit the jackpot) he doesn’t look happy, but he does look pretty calm. He sits alongside Danny and doesn’t bother to dry off. It’s warm, heading for hot, and the salt will dry on his skin.

He doesn’t speak. They drink their coffees, looking out over the water (okay, so Hawaii has grown on Danny, like some kind of unbeatable fungus), and Danny waits patiently for Steve to say something.

“I should have known word would get back to her. You were right, Danny. I should have called.”

Danny shrugs. “It was always your choice, babe. I’m proud of you, though, you stood up to her pretty good.”

Steve nods, and takes another slip, slow and deliberate. “I’m gonna talk to her. I think I should go by myself.” The mere suggestion of that has Danny wanting to place himself physically between them, but like he said, Steve is a big boy and he can look after himself. “She has a point, you know. Guess that’s why I kinda figured she’d show up like this, and say what she said.”

“She does not have a point. You’ve given your whole life until know, to the Navy, to Five-Oh — and you’re not so well anymore, there’s nothing wrong with wanting a different kind of life. You’ve saved a lot of lives, Steve, we both have. I’m proud of us.” He reaches across the small table and Steve grips his hand like it’s a talisman. “Don’t let her derail this.”

“Yeah, Danny.”

They’re silent a while longer, looking out over the ocean.

“I love you,” Steve says.

“I know, babe. I love you too. Very much.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your patience, guys! Hoping to really hit this one hard over the next few weeks and finish it.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Obviously, everything is fine. Doris is fine. Steve is fine. Everything is just _fine._

**August 2018**

 

Brunch at the Hilton.

It shouldn’t bother him. It’s just that sometimes, when he was a kid, and John was working on a Saturday, Doris would bring Steve and Mary here for the same thing. For brunch. Bacon and eggs and sausage for Steve and pancakes for Mary, while Doris had eggs Benedict or French toast with syrup. It had seemed so grand, so majestic, back then. It looks a little tired, now. Steve clears his throat as he makes his way through the tables.

Of course, Doris is sitting right where they all used to sit. Looking out over the beach. She’s wearing a ridiculous floppy hat and large sunglasses, which makes her look oddly like she’s in disguise. If she was actually in disguise, she’d be impossible to spot, so whatever, probably just Steve’s brain reminding him his mother is a CIA operative, as if he’s ever been able to forget it, even once, since he found out.

“Hey, mom,” he says, leaning down to kiss her cheek. There, dutiful son act complete for now. Might as well start right.

He slips into the chair beside her and reaches for a glass of water.

“So I’m mom again,” she says.

“For now.” Steve gives her a smile which is mostly genuine, leaning back, enjoying the sun on his face.

Doris crosses her arms on the table.

“I want you to know that I didn’t intend last night to go the way that it did, and I’m sorry. I came because I heard about the restaurant — I didn’t realize the rest, and it caught me by surprise, and I… did what I do. I forgot how to be a mom a long time ago.”

A waiter with no sense of tact or timing chooses that moment to shower them with suggestions and specials. Steve’s not actually feeling that hungry, but since he probably won’t eat again until the dinner rush dies down, he figures he should eat.

“I’ll get an egg-white omelet, vegetarian, thank you very much. Easy on the spices. Thank you.”

“I’ll have the blueberry açai bowl,” Doris says. “And I think we could both use some coffee. And grapefruit juice? Steven?”

“Yes, thank you. Thank you very much,” he says, with a smile.

Doris takes off her sunglasses. Her eyes are red — tears, maybe, though he can’t picture that, so probably a lack of sleep. Either way, she’s upset.

“As I was saying. I didn’t know about you and Daniel. You could have told me.”

“In one of our many long phone conversations? Come on, mom, I don’t even know where you are, most of the time. And it’s fine, it’s good; you’re doing good work, and I respect it. But it was time, for me. I needed to get out. And Danny gave me just the right push, at just the right time.”

“So it wasn’t your choice.”

“Doris —”

“Here we go again.”

Steve takes a deep breath. He needs that coffee. He rubs his eyes, and reaches for the water glass, just so he has something to do with his mouth that isn’t biting his mother’s head off.

“I didn’t even know you were… I mean, Catherine was…”

“I’m bisexual, mom, I always have been. But _don’t ask, don’t tell_ made it… it was simpler to be with women. I loved Catherine, I did, but she didn’t deserve to be my fallback any more than I deserved to be hers. She’s like you. You know that. When she left, she told me she needed more than a relationship could give her, and I saw it. I knew she was right. We were a habit. A safety net. That’s no way to live.”

Doris says nothing.

“I love Danny. I asked him to marry me.”

Doris looks like she might choke, but the waiter returns with coffee and a jug of creamer, and she remains as composed as it’s possible to be, at a moment like this. Steve smiles his thanks, and she does a double take — probably recognizes

“Well,” she says. “Congratulations. Perhaps I should have ordered champagne.”

She doesn’t sound very celebratory.

“Stop fawning, Doris, you’re embarrassing yourself.”

“I just don’t know how you expect me to react!”

“To my mother being a homophobe?”

“I’m not —”

“Yeah, mom, you are. I’m in love, I’m getting married, and I know it probably doesn’t matter all that much to you considering you envisioned a life of service for me, and that you haven’t even asked me this — but I’m happy. You act like marrying Danny is less amazing than it would have been if I’d just told you I was marrying Catherine? Them yeah, mom, I’m pretty comfortable calling that homophobic.”

Before she can open her mouth again, the waiter returns with their meals, and the grapefruit juice. Doris spends more time than is probably necessary fussing over the table setting, and slips a spoon into her bowl.

“Alright,” she says. “Alright. You’re right. Perhaps I have some unexamined prejudices. I’d always pictured you as a father one day.”

“I’m a father now,” Steve replies smoothly. “Grace and Charlie have both been calling me ‘dad’ for a few weeks now. We’re putting Nahele through culinary school and the builder’s just about to start an extension so he can have a proper room and stop couch-surfing. Those three are my kids. I like it. My family life was a little unusual — turns out found family suits me just fine.”

“Ouch.”

“Well.”

The few minutes of silence, while they make an earnest start on brunch, is enough to settle the atmosphere at least a little bit.

“You know, I really don’t want to fight,” Steve says when he’s feeling a little calmer. “We may not have the traditional mother-son relationship, but that doesn’t mean we can’t make a relationship of our own. But if you think you’re about to say something that devalues my relationship? I’d encourage you to just _not_ say it. That’s just my suggestion, you can take it or leave it. I’m happy, and that’s been hard-won. Took me a long time just to get out of my own way and accept that this is what I want.”

She nods, focusing intently on the blueberries in her bowl, the coconut shreds.

“And you opened a restaurant.”

“And we opened a restaurant. Turns out we’re pretty good at it.”

“I read your reviews.”

“Well, then, you know.”

The omelet has a distinct lack of flavor. Steve sprinkles a little pepper, some salt. They’re silent a little longer, just trying to maintain some equilibrium.

“Are you really sick?”

In that moment, just for that tiny handful of words, Steve hears the mother he remembers. The quiet, sweet-tempered schoolteacher who made him peanut butter and jelly sandwiches because he couldn’t stop eating and never seemed to stop growing.

“No,” he says, and wants it to be true. “I mean, I’m not sick now. But yeah. I have radiation poisoning. I had to take a uranium core out of a dirty bomb a couple of years back, and… I didn’t really have much cover.” He doesn’t tell her he strapped a car battery to his chest. It sounds so ridiculous in retrospect. But what options had he had? Danny’s a father, Charlie and Grace need him. He couldn’t have asked him to do that. Wouldn’t have _let_ him do that. “So cancer is a real risk. Tomorrow, in ten years, in thirty, I won’t know until it happens. So keeping myself healthy isn’t exactly a luxury.”

He puts his fork down. It’s not a lie.

“And more to the point, mom… I know you won’t understand this, but I’d given _enough_. I don’t always sleep so good. I stopped counting how many people I’ve killed a long time back. I’ve been shot and stabbed and my liver is Danny’s. You don’t have to agree with me, and I would never encourage you to retire. But me, I’m done. I’m just done. I’m ready for the next big thing — and that’s marrying Danny, that’s spending time with my family, and it’s the restaurant. You understand that?”

“Your liver is Danny’s?”

“Yeah, he gave me half of his after I got shot in a Cessna. Okay? You get that? I haven’t been sitting on my ass for the last few years waiting for the chance to check out.”

Doris holds his gaze a long time, and then reaches out, laying her hand over Steve’s.

“I never wanted to leave you.”

Steve nods. “But you did. And you stayed gone. And that was a long time ago, mom, but you don’t get a say in how I live my life anymore. You just don’t.”

She nods.

“I’ll try to understand,” she says, though she sounds like she’s simmering just under the surface. Steve notes the use of the word ‘try’. 

There’s a symbolic retreat, then, after a nod from Steve; the important business of finishing their meals, juice, coffee and all; and probably a minute or two to design plausible reasons to part ways.

“Maybe,” Doris says, “you could bring all these, um, _grandchildren_ of mine for dinner at your restaurant tonight? I promise I’ll be good. Only if you can. You’re probably booked out.”

They are, actually, but that can be dealt with. And her voice has softened, and it feels like a peace offering, so Steve decides to take it as one.

“Sure, okay. Six o’clock. I know that’s early, but Charlie’s only six and a half.” He glances at his watch, but doesn’t register the time. It’s just, it’s time. Time to go, regroup, rest against Danny for a little while. “I should go. I’ll see you tonight.”

Steve peels a couple of bills out of his wallet and places them on the table. It’s enough to cover them both, and a generous tip (he doesn’t always forget his wallet, no matter what Daniel Williams thinks). And he gives his mother’s shoulder a squeeze as he heads back to the car.

 

 

It used to be Danny’s place, the Diamond Head lookout. The first time Danny brought him here, Steve hadn’t been able to remember whether he’d ever been there as a kid; drove past it ten thousand times, probably, but even today he can’t remember if John or Doris had ever pulled over, ever said _look Steve, it’s so pretty_.

And it is. So pretty. Hawaii is as close to Heaven as Steve thinks any place might conceivably be.

It’s not Danny’s place anymore. It’s _their_ place. There have been so many important moments here. And sure as he knows where to find Danny when Danny has thinking to do, Danny knows where to find him, too. Steve doesn’t bother to look over his shoulder as a car pulls up; it’s the Camaro.

“I take it that went well,” Danny says, sitting on the ledge alongside him.

“Could have been worse.”

“So it could have been better?”

“You really never got over the glass-half-empty mindset, did you, Danno?”

Danny just grins at him. “Been a long time since you needed her approval for anything, babe,” he reminds Steve gently, and Steve grunts. “I know it would be nice to have it, but we’re doing something important, here.”

“And what’s that, Danno?”

“Living,” Danny says, and reaches for Steve’s hand. Together they look over the water. There’s a storm out at sea, far enough away so it will probably bypass them altogether, but it makes the ocean look moody. Suits Steve’s mood.

“I said we’d get all the kids together tonight and have dinner with her at the restaurant. You think you can swing it?”

“Are you alright, babe?”

Steve turns, startled, frowning. “You mean, other than my mom thinking I’ve turned my back on everything that matters? Peachy. Side of… you know what, I don’t think a Hawaiian can get away with that turn of phrase, I really don’t.”

“You sound hoarse.”

Steve shakes his head. “I’m just tired, Danny.” He checks his watch. It’s almost time to start prepping for the dinner service. And they have to talk to Frankie and Kamekona about the decision to start opening for lunch on the weekend. Steve scrubs his hand over his face, and rubs the back of his neck, which is, he refuses to admit, a little sore. When he turns to Danny, Danny looks concerned. Steve waves it off. “I’m fine. I swear. Let’s go to work.”

 

 

Charlie is charmed, of course, and charming, with his big smiles and strange stories. Grace is a little standoffish. But Steve knows she’s predisposed to not being a fan of Doris McGarrett, knowing (if not the details, then at least the overview of) the story of how she faked her own death and led to the systematic dismantling of Steve’s childhood. She’s loyal as hell and a family girl, no two ways about it, and she knows Steve is loyal as hell and a family guy who’s been without much family for much, much too long. Danny has to cover his mouth with a napkin every time she makes a point of calling Steve ‘dad’ (which is never going to stop being music to Steve’s ears), and every time she makes a point of calling his mom ‘Mrs McGarrett’.

Nahele is himself, always himself, happy to be part of something. He talks awkwardly about culinary school, pleased because his was the only soufflé that didn’t collapse early in the week. Steve tells him about the extension that is starting on the house in just a couple more weeks, and Nahele looks at him and Danny like they take turns hanging the moon each night. He’s known the plan was in the works, but after a life like Nahele has had, no one could fault him for distrusting good news.

“And are you planning to go to college, Grace?” Doris asks.

“I’m going into senior year next month. And yes. Danno and _dad_ are going to take me on a couple of college visits later in the year.” It’s kind of awesome how the snit she left behind a few months ago has stayed gone. Steve knows that Danny doesn’t trust the change, but he does.

“Where are you thinking about going?”

Grace sneaks a look at Danny. “Danno wants me to go to Rutgers.”

“No,” Danny corrects her. “I’d _love_ you to go to Rutgers, and be near the family, and maybe spot a picture or two of your dad in a baseball uniform being generally awesome, but the world is your oyster, kid, and you’ll go wherever you want to go, you hear me?”

She smiles small. “Even if it’s Hawaii State?”

Steve dares a glance at Danny. He’s so torn about this; no part of him wants his little girl thousands of miles away where boys can look at her and Danny can’t punch them, but he wants her to see the world.

“Even if it’s Hawaii State,” he says, and only that, shoveling agnolotti into his mouth before he can qualify it with things like _you can do so much better_ and _are there any all-girl colleges left on the mainland?_

“What would you study?”

Grace sits up straighter. “I’m thinking about marine biology.”

“I’m thinking about marine biology too,” Charlie says, though the pronunciation is a little off. Well, very off. Adorable, nonetheless, and Steve leans over his plate to cut his lasagne into pieces.

“There you go, little man. You good with it now? Small tough?”

“Yeah,” Charlie says, adoringly, and Steve kisses his temple.

As he settles back into his own chair he coughs again, unable to contain it, and four pairs of eyes flick to him. Danny has a look that says he has to see a doctor but Danny’s too good a boyfriend — _fiancé_ — to say it in front of his mom. Steve waves off the concern, but he gives Danny a nod of concession.

“Do dinosaurs go to marine biologists?” Charlie wants to know. Which thankfully turns the attention away from Steve and the tickle in his throat. “Or a normal vet?”

It’s not okay to laugh at a kid’s dreams, so Steve drapes his hand over Charlie’s shoulders. “If you’re a marine biologist, the dinosaurs will be lining up to visit you. Even just for a quick chat over milk and cookies.”

Charlie _beams_.

After a round of desserts so spectacular the table is actually groaning in protest, Danny has the good grace (hah) to suggest it might be time to call it a night. Charlie is approaching a sugar coma, Grace has been texting under the table (Danny has promised to take her to meet friends after dinner) and Nahele has already gone back to work, since it’s getting busier by the minute. Danny excuses himself to take Charlie back to Rachel’s house and Grace to her (hopefully very sedate) night on the town, and Steve and Doris are left at the table, Steve sipping an iced tea and Doris enjoying a Drambuie on ice, which Steve privately thinks is disgusting.

“You don’t drink anymore?”

Steve shrugs. “Occasionally. A little bit, yeah. If I drink too much or too often the anti-rejection meds can stop working.” He brushes his fingers over the scar just beneath his ribcage. Always makes him feel like Danny’s right there. He catches himself doing it sometimes when he’s feeling (god forbid) insecure, or even just a little low. “It’s okay. I don’t really mind. I drink about enough iced tea to sink a sip these days, got a good technique for making it at home, and Danny doesn’t drink much either. I don’t miss it too much. There’s a muslim supermarket in town that has non-alcoholic beer which tastes pretty good. We get a six-pack of that when I get a craving for felafel.”

It’s not even a lie. It does taste pretty good. And Steve doesn’t get too many chances to keep his Arabic fresh, so he and the owner end up shooting the shit for a little while whenever he stops by.

“Things have changed,” Doris says, sadly.

“Things have changed. But most of it’s for the better. You could maybe stop looking like someone shot your puppy.”

“Someone did shoot my puppy,” she says. “ _In the liver_. And then he got radiation poisoning.” She holds her palm up before Steve can offer a retort, and just then Governor Mahoe and her wife pause at the table to say hello, effectively ending the conversation. Doris is charming, Steve is even more charming (Keiko’s regular patronage has definitely given the restaurant a boost) and by the time the two have left, the heat has gone out of Steve’s conversation with his mother. They sit in silence for a few moments, and Steve’s head waiter gives him a nervous look, tapping her watch.

He nods, and smiles.

“Want me to give you a lift to the hotel?” he asks Doris.

She shakes her head. “No, it’s a lovely night. I’ll walk. If my old lady feet get tired, I’ll call a taxi.”

“Your old lady feet still happier walking vertically up the side of a building?”

“I don’t walk up the sides of buildings in heels,” she says.

Steve walks her out, and they pause in the parking lot. Steve stuffs his hands in his pockets, feeling very young.

“So if I invite you to the wedding, mom — will you be there?”

She takes a breath. “I’ll try. But I’m still active. Busy. I fly out tomorrow and I’ll be out of touch for a while. But I’ll try, Steve. I promise.”

She takes a step closer, and cups his face in her hands.

“I know you’ll probably have trouble believing this, Steve, but I _am_ happy for you. I want you to be happy, and healthy, and… it’s just going to take a minute to get used to all of this.” She kisses his cheek. “And you have a lovely family. I hope I get a chance to get to know them all better.”

“Walk safe. Goodbye, mom,” he says, and she turns, looking slightly unsettled, and she’s disappeared around the corner before he can quite breathe straight.

When she’s gone, Steve checks his watch again. Time to go and be a good host. He can probably head home in three, four hours.

He rubs the back of his aching neck, and enjoys the salt on the breeze for a good long moment, because it really does cure everything. And then he heads back inside to make nice with all the customers.

 

 

He and Danny take separate cars back to the house a little after one in the morning, and then Danny leads Steve up the stairs to the bedroom. He eases Steve’s jacket down over his shoulders and hangs it in the closet while Steve steps out of his shoes. They’re already getting worn in the soles; would it be that big a deal to keep wearing boots? They’re just so much better, and he feels more himself in them. Pity Danny won’t let him wear slippers. Steve starts to unbutton his shirt, and Danny slaps his hand away.

“You wanna talk about it, babe?” he asks, as he takes over, fingertips moving over Steve’s chest as he goes.

“Nah. It went okay. I thought it went okay; did you think?”

“It went okay. If Gracie was still ten I’d buy her that pony.” Steve snickers at that, and watches as Danny strips him slowly. “You still tired?”

Steve gives a sly smile, and takes Danny’s hand, pressing it over his cock, just starting to take notice of the gentle contact. “I’m not that tired.”

Danny palms him roughly through the fabric of his suit pants, and Steve gives a grunt. Sex serves so many purposes. Wake you up, cheer you up, reaffirm a sacred bond; sometimes, it’s your way back to normal when things feel strange, and the last couple of days have felt strange. Steve leans closer, nuzzling into Danny’s neck, while Danny unbuckles his belt, and opens his pants, and there is nothing semi about Steve now. He feels himself swell in Danny’s hand, and pulls him closer.

“I wanna fuck you, Steve, can I fuck you?”

“Yeah, Danny. Please,” Steve says, and then It occurs to him that despite the surge of hormones, he’s still actually pretty tired. It has to be something about the new circadian rhythm he’s still trying to adjust to, he tells himself. But when Danny’s mouth nudges Steve’s mouth open, and his tongue slides confidently past Steve’s lips, all tiredness is forgotten.

Funny sort of mood; they are both clearly gagging for it, but they see to decide to go slow without even discussing it. Clothes end up on the floor (and does it really matter? Probably not, though there is still the military instinct to keep everything tidy) and they’re making out on the bed like teenagers, rolling back and forth, kissing aimlessly and then with clear purpose.

Steve loves their shifting dynamic. Danny’s clearly got an agenda tonight; he’s rough, passionate, every inch the foul-mouthed Jersey boxer Steve fell in love with. Using his mouth and his teeth and his hands while Steve submits happily, half-floating away under Danny’s intense focus. Danny’s body is ridiculous. The strength in his arms and shoulders, the hard muscle beneath Steve’s hands when he clings tight . Steve loves it, he’s living for it, he can’t really wrap his brain around how soft, slim bodies had held appeal for so long.

“Danny,” he groans. No actual follow-up to that, just the need to say his name. Danny has just finished worrying a bruise into Steve’s thigh with his teeth (figures a guy who needs his people is gonna be this possessive, and Steve loves it) and he murmurs appreciatively before licking the tip of Steve’s weeping cock with the flat of his tongue. Steve rolls his head back. His neck hurts for a moment, but not badly enough to resist the urge to tangle his fingers in Danny’s hair and push a little. Danny closes his hand over Steve’s shaft — apparently, _deep-throating is for porn stars and liars_ , a line which has never fails to make Steve laugh — and takes him a little deeper.

A click of Danny’s fingers and Steve is tossing him the lube like a dog trained for parlor tricks. Danny pulls off his dick and grins.

“I love the way I can snap my fingers and make you do what I want.”

“Thought you snapped your fingers so you could do what _I_ want,” Steve counters, draping his knees over Danny’s ridiculous shoulders as Danny shifts closer.

“Like this, babe? You want it like this? Or you want to be on your hands and knees? I know you like it hard and deep.”

“Naw, Danny, like this, so I can look at you. I like looking at you.”

It’s a line that never fails to make Danny smile in this way that almost looks shy; but for all he likes to point out that he’s cute, he doesn’t actually seem to believe it. Maybe he’s blushing, maybe he’s just flushed. It doesn’t really matter.

Of course, Danny’s not _cute_. He’s _magnificent_. And not just because he’s hot as hell. Because no matter what kind of shit Steve gets himself into — and oh, fuck, Danny’s finger feels good sliding into him, working intently while they keep eye contact — no matter what kind of shit Steve gets himself into, Danny is there. He was there in North Korea like a fucking hallucination, parting the canvas flaps on the back of the transport. He was there in Afghanistan, calm in the face of two men who had tried to send him away. He’s there, he’s always there.

And he’ll be there for the next disaster.

“I love you,” Danny says. “Just wait until we’re married, I’m gonna drive you up the wall. I’ll have a Reuben sandwich and my _husband_ will have the ancient grain salad. My _husband_ has awful taste in ties, can you please help him out.”

“My _husband_ is a pain in the ass, and talks way too much, but you can tune him out with practice,” Steve replies, and then arches his back as Danny’s fingers make way for his dick, thick and hard and so _known_ and _perfect_ that the pain in his neck and the need to cough and the hoarseness Steve can’t pretend isn’t evident every time he opens his mouth — they all fade, they’re _nothing_ , and it’s possible this will be the last time they fuck, for a while, so he pulls Danny in by his knees until Danny is pressed hard against him. Balls smacking against Steve’s taint, cock brushing his prostate on every pass.

It feels so good, so _fucking_ good. Steve doesn’t miss condoms. Ass full of spunk might necessitate an evening shower more often than he would usually prefer but he loves the feeling when there is no barrier between them, when every bit of friction is theirs and theirs alone.

“Harder,” he says, holding his head still, because the pang in his neck is getting impossible to ignore and he needs the distraction, the sheer pleasure. Danny obliges, sweet thing that he is, grunting and thrusting and not even complaining about his knee, which must be hurting after so many hours on his feet. “Fuck me, Danny, come on, fuck me.”

“Babe I will tape your mouth shut,” Danny promises, but he picks up the pace. Only for a few seconds. Hard to be sure whether it’s the sight of Steve coming all over his chest, or the way that coming makes Steve clamp down hard over Danny’s dick, but there, there you have it, a long, glorious, shared orgasm. Waves of pleasure passing over them both. Steve’s spine feels like molten lava, his body feels like spaghetti.

Also, his neck hurts.

_He doesn’t care._

Danny eases out of him, and settles against his body, head on Steve’s heart, breathing hard.

“That was,” Danny starts, and seems to run out of steam.

“I know,” Steve murmurs in reply.

They lie like that for a long time.

“We should take a shower,” Danny offers.

“Naw, Danny. Have a bath with me.”

They lie in the bath until Steve can’t ignore the pain in his neck anymore and Danny is moments from whining that the water is getting cold, and then they towel dry gently and crawl back into bed.

 

 

In the morning — no, it’s not morning. Steve forces his eyes open, coughs softly and tries to make sense of the numbers on his alarm clock, and it’s just after noon.

So.

 _In the early afternoon,_ Danny stirs, and tightens his grip around Steve’s back.

“It’s that time,” he says.

Steve grunts.

“You wanna go for a swim, babe? I’ll make breakfast.”

Steve closes his eyes. He doesn’t feel like swimming but his eyes evidently do. They’re swimming like he’s _drunk_ , like he’s been choked. He feels heavy. It’s not just his head. His _limbs_ feel heavy. His _torso_ feels heavy. He feels like every once of energy has been sapped right out of him, and it’s fucking horrible. He tries to take a cleansing breath, wishes the doors to the upstairs lanai were open so he could smell the sea. He tries to push himself up onto one elbow and fails.

“Steven?”

Danny’s voice sounds distant, even though his lips are up against Steve’s ear. He sounds like he’s on a loudspeaker, or on a hands-free phone, a million miles away. Maybe he’s somewhere where Steve doesn’t ache so bad.

Steve aches so _fucking bad_. His neck isn’t comfortable in this position, but the effort it would take to move would require more energy than he has available.

“Naw, Danny,” he says, trying to sound normal, though his voice sounds as distant as Danny’s does. “Might sleep a little bit longer.”

He can’t ignore the sudden tension in Danny’s body, as he leaps out of bed and walks around until he can crouch down next to Steve’s face.

“Are you okay?”

No, he’s not. He’s not okay, and he’s pretty sure Danny knows he’s not okay, and he’s pretty sure that they’ve both been pretending that everything is fine for much longer than is healthy.

“I’m just tired,” Steve says, as Danny cups his jaw. And he’s asleep again before his eyes close.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yikes, work got crazy, and this chapter went through more iterations than planned! Thanks for your patience! You guys are freaking amazing.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The news isn't good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you need a content warning, you'll find it in the endnotes.

**August 2018**

 

Danny hates hospital waiting rooms. Hates the smell, hates the blank faces of the people sitting in uncomfortable plastic bucket seats, hates the piles of outdated magazines. Mostly, he hates waiting. He’s waited here too much. Waited to hear about Steve, most of the time. Steve, Charlie…

Danny drags his hand down over his face and debates heading down the street for a decent cup of coffee, because the coffee coming out of the machine looks like weak tea and doesn’t taste like… well, anything, which is weird. Danny needs some caffeine. Maybe something to eat.

He feels like he’s forgotten something, too, but no; he told Rachel he couldn’t take the kids but he’d keep in touch and let her know what was happening later and _no, please, don’t come to the hospital, I don’t want Grace or Charlie to know anything’s up, not until we know_. Frankie and Kamekona have the restaurant in hand — Danny has no idea why he and Steve are pretending to run it, those two are the real MVPs — and They’ve promised not to say anything to Nahele. Not yet.

There’s a cup of coffee being gently pressed into Danny’s hand, and he looks up gratefully. Lou.

“I also wish I had a million bucks,” Danny says, glancing at the ceiling, but no such cash drifts down on him like snow.

“I brought malasadas,” Lou says, handing over a paper bag.

“Thanks, Grover.” They smell good, fresh and warm, but the appetite Danny was annoyed by only a few minutes ago has mysteriously dried up.

“Any news?”

Danny shakes his head. “Nothing. He’s in recovery now while they test the tissue.”

“It might be nothing.”

“Yeah, of course. Thanks Lou. Too soon to worry.” Of course, in Danny’s experience, it’s never too soon to worry. Worrying is kind of an end in itself. It is its own reward. He eases the lid off the paper cup and takes a sip. It’s good.

“What is it?” he asks Lou.

“It’s a mocchacino. I thought that sounded nice. You know you’re the only person I know who drinks his coffee different every time?”

“I hear that a lot.”

Danny leans back against his chair and glances at the time. It’s after seven, hard to believe. Seven hours since this nightmare started. An hour since he’d kissed Steve goodbye, before they took him away for a biopsy on a lump in his neck that _neither of them had noticed_.

He’ll never forgive himself. Danny knows Steve’s body so well, he should have noticed. And he didn’t.

“You don’t have to stay, Lou.”

“Like hell. I’m not leaving you to do this on your own. You know you’d be sittin’ right here next to me if the tables were turned. If god forbid, that was Renee in there.”

Danny’s grateful. He is. It just feels like needing the support means there’s something terribly, terribly wrong, and he really doesn’t feel ready to face that.

A tired-looking doctor approaches. She’s Korean, he thinks, and he’s almost certain he’s met her before, but the name currently eludes him. Danny stands up, the bag of malasadas dropping forgotten to the ground. She looks sad. That’s never a good sign. Her hair is tied back in a tight knot, but she pushes a few imaginary strands behind her ear anyway.

“Are you the family?” she asks.

“I’m his fiancé,” Danny says. “And his medical proxy.”

The doctor nods, and glances at Lou. “Would you like to talk about this somewhere more private?”

“No. Lou’s our very good friend. Please, doctor, rip the band-aid off.”

She nods. “There is a large tumor that has grown on and around Steve’s thyroid gland. It’s not unusual after radiation poisoning for that to be the first site, if cancer develops. We will need to take out that side of the thyroid out, and we’re checking the other side for any signs of growths, but if there’s one there, it’s definitely much smaller and didn’t come up on the scan. I’m gonna go ahead and tell you I think it’s unlikely that there is a second tumor, but I’m not giving you any kind of promise about that. These things are difficult to predict. They’ll biopsy some more tissue.”

Danny nods. “So you take the thyroid. What next?”

“Chemotherapy. It won’t be a lot of fun, but we need to be aggressive. He’s had the radiation poisoning less than two years. This happened relatively quickly. We need every last cancer cell gone, to reduce the risk of other organs being affected.”

Danny rubs his forehead and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Can I see him?”

“He’s asleep, but he’ll be awake soon. I’m going to schedule surgery for the morning. Someone will come and collect you when he wakes up.” The doctor nods, and moves to step away, but Danny grabs her arm.

“Sorry,” he says, holding his hands up, pacifying. “I didn’t mean to — I just need to know, doc, is he —”

He can’t say it. Lou grips his shoulder. “What’s the prognosis, doctor, is what he’s trying to get at.”

“It’s very good. He’s young, he’s strong, he’s healthy — experience tells me if we get most of the tumor out and don’t take any half-measures with the chemo, he’ll make it. Doesn’t guarantee anything for the future, but for now, I feel confident. I should go. I really need to schedule the surgery. They’ll need you to fill out some forms. I’ll leave the nurse to discuss it with you. If you’ll excuse me,” she says.

Fuck.

Danny covers his face with his hands, and Lou drapes an arm over his shoulders, giving a squeeze, before helping him into the chair again. Danny reaches for the coffee cup he’d placed on the chair next to his. He direly needs the sugar, since the room is starting to spin. And there’s so much to do. He needs to talk to people, tell people… and chemo, that’s bad, right? Is he going to be able to get up and down the stairs?

“I should have emptied out the study,” he says.

“Huh? You okay, Danny?”

“I’m not okay, no, and I don’t know what this is going to be like. Okay, I don’t know if he’s gonna be well enough to get up and down stairs, and if I’d cleaned out the study, which I said I would do because Steve just can’t, I could move our bedroom into the space. You know? I should be writing a list of people to call. I don’t know how I’m gonna tell the kids. Grace worries, and Charlie won’t understand. Do you think it’ll be okay for them to be around him? Maybe they should stay at Rachel’s full time for a little while.”

“You think that lug of a boy toy of yours can get better without those smiling faces to keep him cheered up?”

Well, maybe not.

A nurse comes to collect Danny and take him to the recovery room. “I’ll wait,” Lou says.

“No, Lou. It’s a marathon, not a sprint. Go home, get some dinner into you, hug Renee. I’ll call you with an update later.”

Lou pats him on the back, which is a little like being patted with a whole brick wall, and Danny smiles his thanks, before following the nurse to the recovery room. Steve is looking almost as pale as the sheets he is lying against. He stirs, and reaches a hand out, and Danny takes it, giving him a smile.

“How are you feeling, you big hypochondriac?”

“I’m okay, Danny. Did the doctor talk to you?”

“Yeah.” He sits on the edge of the bed. “Yeah, she did. Surgery in the morning. And then chemo. I never thought…”

“It would be this soon? Yeah, me too, pal.”

“I shouldn’t have ignored that cough.”

“Hey, don’t do that. You don’t have time for that.” Steve gives Danny’s hand a squeeze. “We got work to do.”

“Frankie and Baloo have the restaurant. I’ll figure something else out tomorrow. Hire a manager.”

“Not the kind of work I mean.”

“So what kind of work do you mean, Steven. I’m too tired to put these pieces together on my own. What are we gonna do?”

“We’re gonna face this thing the way we face everything, Danno.”

“What, with a reckless disregard for the safety of the good citizens of Honolulu?”

Steve laughs, and then cringes, almost reaching for the bandage on his neck. “Pretty much. You and me, together, we beat everything. You landed a plane on the beach when I was bleeding out so I wouldn’t drown, and then gave me half your liver. You came to get me in Afghanistan, in North Korea. I know you’ve got my back. We can do this.”

How is it that Steve is the one with cancer, and Danny is the one who can’t handle it? He’s really never gotten over the glass-half-empty thing.

“I love you,” Steve says. “This is gonna work out, Danny, you’ll see. It’s all gonna be okay. Come down here and kiss me.”

Danny shakes his head, but he leans down, and presses his lips to Steve’s. Steve reaches out to cup his neck, and for a moment, their foreheads rest comfortably together. Drawing strength from each other, Danny supposes, although he doesn’t know how much he has to offer.

“I need to get some more sleep,” Steve says. “You should go home. Get some rest.”

“No. I’ll go get something to eat, make a few calls, but they’d need a crowbar to get me out of here tonight, you hear me? Sleep, get your strength up. I love you. I’ll see you soon.”

‘Soon’ turns out to be a relative term; it takes Danny almost an hour to fill out paperwork, and then he heads back to the house to pack Steve some clothes, in an old duffel bag with the SEAL insignia on the side. Pajamas, some loose sweatpants, a few t-shirts, just simple things. A pair of flip-flops — sorry, _slippers_ , in case they feel inclined to let him wander the halls a little. Toothbrush and toothpaste and moisturizer, because Steve’s face gets dry.

Danny opens the door to the study and rubs his hand over his face. Should have arranged to get this done weeks ago. He closes the door again and heads to the kitchen to raid the fridge for leftovers.

The phone rings. Rachel. Or Grace, Danny supposes. He answers it, and Rachel is talking almost before he gets the phone to his ear.

“Is there news?” she asks. “Is Steve alright?”

Danny drops onto a chair at the dining table. “It’s not good. It’s cancer. He has surgery in the morning and then in a few days they’ll start him on chemo.”

“Oh, Daniel. I’m so sorry.”

“The prognosis is good.”

“Well, that’s a relief. What do you want me to tell the children?”

This house hasn’t been updated in forty years, maybe longer. It feels like a mausoleum. It’s depressing. No, it’s not, it’s a house full of love and light but right now it feels so empty that Danny can’t even stand it.

“I’ll bring them to see him in a couple of days. It won’t be as hard to hear if they can look at him and see for themselves that he’s okay. I know Grace is probably asking, but just tell her we don’t know anything yet, would you do that?”

“Of course,” Rachel says. She sounds cautious. “Are _you_ alright, Daniel?”

“No, I’m not,” he says. “This big idiot has been stabbed and shot and beaten up and poisoned and he dismantled that bomb on his own to save me from going through exactly what he’s going through right now. I love him, Rachel.”

“I know you do.”

“I wanna marry him. Not… not _bury_ him.”

“Daniel, stop that. You’re not going to bury him for a very, very long time. And when you do, it will probably be because you shot him in the middle of an argument.”

“That’s not funny.”

“It’s a little funny. Danny, you’re the strongest man I know. You can do this. And so can he.”

“I know. Thank you.”

“I mean it. Don’t placate me. And if you need a shoulder to lean on, mine’s at an excellent height for that.”

Danny smiles, in spite of himself, and promises to keep her updated before he ends the call.

He’s barely put the phone down before it rings again. Junior, full of apologies, with Tani on speaker. They’ve spent the last two days on the Big Island looking for a cocaine dump, and only just got Danny’s message.

He explains again, and he’s glad he isn’t there to see Junior’s face fall, because he can imagine it, in the silence that follows. And Danny really doesn’t have it in him to try to cheer these two up right now. Especially Junior, who’d shown up in their lives like an especially determined stray cat and become so important to Steve.

“Is there anything we can do?”

Probably. Nothing Danny can think of right now, though. “No. Not yet. I’ll let you know when he’s up for visitors. I’ll keep Lou updated and get him to pass on information if that’s okay with you. I don’t think I can keep making a lot of phone calls every time something changes. It’s real enough without repeating it over and over. If that’s alright.”

“Yeah, Danny, it’s fine,” Tani says, after a pause, because apparently, Junior has lost the ability to speak out loud; not entirely unexpected. “Just tell Steve we love him, and we’ll see him soon.”

“Okay. Thank you, I’ll do that. I should go, I really need to get back to the hospital. Oh, Junior —”

“I’ll come and pick Eddie up in the morning. He can stay with us.”

“Thank you,” Danny says again and ends the call.

Wait… _us_? He’s so out of the loop.

Danny sits down to scratch Eddie’s furry, demanding head.

“He’ll be alright,” Danny says, as much to himself as to Eddie. “The kids’ll pick you up tomorrow and look after you just for a little while. I’m sorry. I’ve got too many people to look after right now. Can’t take care of you, too, but I do love you very much, and I promise I’ll come get you as soon as I can. Not sure Steve could get better without you drooling periodically on his leg, you know?”

Steve McGarrett. Cat person. Fell in love with a dog and kept him.

Danny feels his throat constrict, and realizes for the first time — and he shouldn’t be this dense, this should _not_ be the first time he’s putting it together — that he adopted Eddie for Danny. Danny, the dog person in the rented house who couldn’t have a dog.

Shit.

Fuck, _shit_ , fuck it all. Danny lets himself bury his face in the big lug’s fur and cry, just for a few minutes. Dogs are good for that. How much has he missed? In all this time, when they were dancing back and forth, how many things has he missed?

The bomb, the goddamn bomb, the proximity sensor — Steve had refused to leave, refused to suit up. He might as well have handed Danny a little pink paper heart that read ‘I don’t want to live without you, xoxo’.

Danny’s gut clenches. There’s other stuff. No doubt. Other things he missed and shouldn’t have, and if he’d gotten the hang of the _lingua franca_ a little bit sooner, maybe he wouldn’t have wasted this much time.

Danny’s sobs turn to a low, loud wail. Feels like he’s having a heart attack, a panic attack. Feels like he’s breaking apart inside. And it probably needs to happen. Fuck, he needs Kono. He needs someone. He can’t call Kono and tell her this, though, and he can’t call Chin. They’re too far away. They can’t know this and worry when they can’t be here to touch Steve’s hands and see that they’re still warm and he’s still alive.

Eddie keens as well, and licks Danny’s face, confused and distressed, his tail tucked between his legs and his expression one of abject misery. Danny takes a deep breath, and sits on the edge of the coffee table, because kneeling any longer, he’s gonna end up on his walking stick for another month. He scratches through Eddie’s fur as his sobs subside, and Eddie seems to calm as well, lying against Danny’s feet.

It’s probably not the last time this mutt’s fur is going to soak up tears. But he’s a good dog. He doesn’t mind, as long as he’s being included.

“Probably time for a walk around the block isn’t it,” he says, and at the mention of the word ‘walk’ Eddie’s ears perk up, and his entire posture shifts. “Around the block, buddy, I mean it. You do your thing, I demean myself by picking your thing up in a baggie, proving once and for all who the dominant species is, and then I’ll feed you.”

 

 

Steve has been moved from recovery to a ward, by the time Danny gets back to the hospital. He steps through the door, silent in case Steve is asleep, and there’s a strange feeling of deja vu.

“Danny?”

Danny grins. “Oh, babe. On a scale of ‘contact high’ to ‘Bob Marley’, how stoned are you right now?”

Steve grins. “Somewhere in the middle. Pain’s not that bad.”

“Have you been in this room before?” Danny sits on the edge of the bed, and takes Steve’s hand.

“Naw, Danny. _You_ have. The sarin thing.” He’s slurring, eyes closing as the sentence goes on. “I came… I came to see you. I remember. I thought, _he nearly died and he doesn’t know_.”

“Know what, babe.”

“I think I was in love with you. I didn’t even know what I was gonna say. Maybe just sit while you slept. Maybe kiss you. I didn’t know. I didn’t have it all figured out. But Rachel was here,” he says, as he opens his eyes again. “You looked so happy.”

The shit of it is — Danny _was_ happy. He’d imagined he might get his life back. Never occurred to him that maybe he didn’t want it, until he’d missed his flight back to Jersey to help Steve.

“Hey, hey. Wasn’t trying to make you sad. I don’t even know what I wanted, that day. Maybe I just needed to see for myself that you were alive. It all worked out.”

“Yeah, it did. I feel like we both missed a lot of clues along the way though. It doesn’t matter anymore. And I can’t regret… that year, the thing with Rachel, because it brought me Charlie, and that kid is his own source of sunshine. Did they feed you?”

“Yeah. Pretty disgusting, but stuff that’s easy to swallow, you know. Did you eat?”

“Sandwich. And I fed Eddie. Brought you some clothes. You might be in here a little while.”

“Not too long,” Steve says. “Danny…”

“Don’t start. I brought a book, I’ll sleep on the chair if I can’t keep my eyes open.”

“No. I was gonna ask. Can we do something? Have a party. Not big. Just the Ohana. If I put off the chemo for a few more days, we could do it on the weekend before… in case things get bad, you know? They say not everyone gets sick. But if I do, you best know now I’m a terrible patient, and I want to see everyone before…”

“Of course we can have a party, babe. Just the Ohana. Mini-Steve and Tani send their love. Did you know they’re living together? They’ll come by in a couple of days, when you’re up for visitors.”

Steve nods and closes his eyes. “Don’t let him catch you calling him mini-Steve.”

“Yeah, or what? I’ll kick that little punk’s ass,” Danny says, but Steve has already drifted off again.

 

 

Danny doesn’t make it home, the following day. He heads to Rachel’s in the afternoon while Steve is sleeping, because Grace has been sending increasingly worried texts. He takes her to a café so she won’t cry in front of her brother.

“But that’s not as bad as lung cancer or something, is it?”

“No, Monkey. They’re confident he’ll be okay. He’s just gonna be sick for a while.”

“Will his hair fall out?”

“Maybe.”

“Just when it was growing again,” she says, mournfully. “Can I see him?”

Danny sips his coffee — okay, so the mocchacino had been tasty, he’s willing to give it a second shot — and nods. “Yeah. He wants to see you both. But if it’s okay with you, we might give it another day or two. He’s gonna be pretty out of it for a little while. He woke up this afternoon for a couple of hours, but he was woozy from the anesthesia and talking all kinds of crazy stuff. So probably the day after tomorrow.”

“Can I text him?”

“You can always text him, Grace. Anytime. You never need my permission for that. He’s your dad, right?” Danny gives her a warm, hopefully reassuring smile, and she brightens just a little. “It just might be a little while before he texts you back. But I think he’d like that.”

Grace sips her iced coffee, so over-decorated it looks more like a dessert than a drink, and he thinks it’s incredibly brave that she doesn’t wipe her tears away. He didn’t teach Grace to hide her emotions and she doesn’t.

“Did you tell his mom?”

“I don’t even know how to get hold of her,” Danny admits. “But I’ll try if he wants me to. Which he might not. They’re not getting along so well right now.” He reaches across the table to take Grace’s hand. “Listen, Monkey. The other night, at dinner. You said you wanted to go to Hawaii State.”

“I’m not sure. And I know you want me to see the world —”

“Yeah, yes, I do, but let me finish. I’ve been thinking a lot, about family, and… okay, mostly family. And in a few months, we will do that tour of the schools you’re interested in on the mainland. If you want to do marine biology, there are plenty of places you could do it. But I want you to know that if you want to stay here and be close to your family, there’s nothing wrong with that. This is your home, you love it, and that’s wonderful.”

“It’s your home, too, Danno. Yours and dad’s.”

Danny’s heart does a little flip every time Grace calls Steve ‘dad’.

“You’ve got your whole life ahead of you, sweetheart, and you’ll see the world. But that doesn’t mean you have to go away right away. Okay? I’m not going to pressure you either way. This is a big decision to make, and it’s yours to make.”

Grace smiles. “Okay, Danno.”

She does wipe her face, then, and Danny knows in that moment that he did the right thing, slowing down for a minute to talk about something hopeful. Help stop her from getting mired in this.

“Also, I need a favor.”

“Shoot,” she says.

“I need you to help me organize a party.”

Grace grins, and reaches into her handbag to pull out her tablet. “I’ll start making lists.”

 

 

Last stop before Danny returns to the hospital is the restaurant. He opens three beers and a bottrle of ginger ale for Nahele, who doesn’t turn twenty-one for a few months yet, and along with Frankie and Kamekona (who are sitting very, very close) they sit at a table in the back of the restaurant. Danny explains what’s happening in the most clinical terms he can because he doesn’t have it in him to keep comforting people.

“So I have no idea how long this will take, or how long it’ll be before he can really work again.”

Kamekona shakes his head sadly, and Frankie tucks her hand into his elbow.

“But he’s not going to die,” Nahele says, and how that kid got through the kind of childhood he had without being ashamed to express emotions Danny will never know, but his shoulders hunch, tears stream from his eyes, and the last time Danny saw anyone so miserable was the day Steve had told Nahele that his father was dead. Yeah, Steve saw it before Danny did, but he’s as much theirs as Grace and Charlie.

“Hey hey,” Danny says, giving the kid’s shoulders a squeeze. “No. You have to believe at this point that nothing short of a steamroller will kill Lieutenant Commander Steve McGarrett. He’ll outlive us all out of sheer will. But he is gonna be sick for a while. We need to be prepared for that.”

They’re all silent for a few long moments.

“I know someone we can hire as a manager. In fact — and I love you and Steve, Danny, I really, really do, but she has enough experience to not just hold the fort for a while but grow this business. If I can offer her a year-long contract she’ll fly out within the week.”

This is probably the point where Danny should ask for a resumé and references and maybe a police check, but he nods, instead.

“That would be great. I trust you. All of you,” he amends, making sure to make eye contact with each of them. “And now, I need to get back. I’ve been looking forward all day to beating stoned Steve at chess, repeatedly and without remorse.”

“That’s no way to treat a sick man,” Kamekona says.

“We’re talking about Steve, here, Andre. I gotta get the licks in when I can.”

“Just let me know when he’s ready for some kine comfort food. I won’t even skim off the top, this time.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A blanket warning; this was predictable, from the outset, with the message that this would deal with Steve's health. This chapter deals with a cancer diagnosis and the beginning of his treatment, and this theme will last a few chapters. 
> 
> I promised you guys a happy ending and I will not waver. This story will end happily. But for now, it's going to hurt.


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chemo _sucks._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year, friends! I hope it's a really special one for you. 
> 
> If you'd like a sense of what this chapter will look like or have any distress or triggers around cancer, please read the end notes for this chapter before going on. I know a chance to prepare can take the sting out, and an appropriate warning can help you to decide whether to read or not.

**August 2018**

 

It’s strange, but Steve actually doesn’t hate Danny fussing over him. Pushing his wheelchair out to the front doors of the hospital, fretting quietly about nothing at all while Steve needles him about being an old lady.

He can’t deny feeling pretty lousy, though. His neck hurts. They weren’t able to get the whole tumor, which means chemotherapy just got non-negotiable.

“I’ll drive,” Steve says.

“You have an opioid load that should have you on your ass, babe,” Danny says, helping Steve into the passenger seat. “Just get in the fucking car and quit your moaning.”

The house is clean, when they get home, which Steve normally wouldn’t comment on, except that Danny notices as well, and stops dead in his tracks, helping Steve to the couch.

“You put out a saucer of honey for the brownies, Danno?”

Danny frowns. “No, that would only bring ants. There are no ants. There’s no nothing. I swear there was a whole lot of dog hair on the floor when I was here last.”

Steve is grateful, though. The last thing he wants is for Danny to run around fussing over the house when all he can really manage is resting on the couch. He hates feeling this helpless.

_But._

“Danny,” Steve says, getting to his feet again.

“Sit down, babe, I’ll bring you whatever you need.”

“No. Look.”

Danny turns. There is a huge Christmas bow stuck to the door of John McGarrett’s study. Danny reaches for his hip as if he’s planning to draw his weapon before he remembers he doesn’t have it there. Steve crosses the room painstakingly and opens the door.

It’s their bedroom.

All of the shelves and the heavy desk are gone. The big ugly leather chair that Steve only sits in when he feels the need to punish himself. All the papers, all those heavy books. There’s a gentle smell of paint; the walls are a soft color which might be gray and might be blue but either way is definitely fresh.

Their bed has been brought down the stairs and re-assembled, which honestly… Steve isn’t too sure he’d be able to manage the stairs too well right now, so it’s good. The wardrobe is unfamiliar, looks new; the one upstairs is probably too heavy to get down the stairs, and much too heavy to get up the stairs, so it’s a good thing.

“When did you get time to do this, Danno?”

“I didn’t,” Danny answers, stepping into the room. “Lou. I was… at the hospital, I was doing that thing I do, you know, where I just babble and babble. I told him I wished I’d done this a few weeks ago, you know, got rid of all the… because the stairs, babe, I know you’re a super-strong Navy SEAL but you do have your limits. So they… Lou. Junior and Tani, probably. Maybe Reggie.”

Steve feels heat build in his eyes because this is what Ohana _does_. They just get in and do what needs doing. He crosses the room and sits on the edge of the bed.

“I can’t feel him in here, anymore.”

Danny slips his hands into his pockets and sits alongside Steve, on their bed, in their new (hopefully temporary) bedroom. “Is that a good thing?”

“It was time to let go, Danny.” Steve leans close, close enough so their foreheads touch and they stay like that a while, breathing each other’s air. “It’s _my_ home, now. He’s long gone, and we avenged him. It was time to exorcize the ghosts. I’m thirsty,” he says, sitting up again. “Could you…?”

“What did your last slave die of?” Danny asks, cheerfully, on his way out the door to get Steve a glass of water, hopefully with a bendy straw.

Steve lies down, stretching himself out. He flinches briefly as the skin on his neck pulls slightly under the surgical incision which is covered by a piece of white gauze and some tape. It’s still not as painful as he’d imagined it might be, and pain’s never bothered him all that much. What’s a thousand times worse is the lethargy. He should be itching for a long swim, a run, something, anything, and all he can do is lie there with his eyes drifting shut.

He’s asleep before Danny gets back with the water.

 

 

Grace really knows how to put a party together. And Steve knows she organized it because there are cactus-shaped novelty lights and that’s a whole _theme_ thing. Cacti on the napkins. No way Danny would think of something like that. Besides, when he wakes up, she’s in the kitchen looking pleased with herself, and arranging a cactus-shaped serving dish with some kind of savory pastries.

“Dad,” she says, approaching carefully and wrapping Steve in a hug.

“Are you taller than Danno, yet? Because it’s gonna happen,” Steve says, hugging her back a little more fiercely. “Thanks for doing this.”

It’s early. Everyone arrived by five o’clock and they’ll be eating at six because it’s pretty clear to everyone that Steve can’t stay awake much longer than that. He hates it. Hates this sense of weakness. Steve is a caretaker; he’s not supposed to need coddling. But that makes absolutely no difference to the fact that he’s stoned on painkillers, weak as a kitten and prone to falling asleep at the drop of a hat.

But tomorrow is the day. Day one of chemo. And Steve needs to be with his people.

He hates that he had to leave it to Danny to call Chin and Kono. Sounds like they’d coped okay, but Danny’s been trying to take the edge off things for him, so that might not be true. Steve turns to him, sitting close, and smiles.

The worst moment in the last few days was definitely telling Charlie. He’s such a ball of sunshine, so happy and hopeful, that bad news seems to rock his worldview in a way no kid should have to deal with. He’d cried on Steve, and then on Danny, and Steve’s still not even sure he understood what he was hearing. He heard ‘sick’, he head ‘hospital’, that had been enough to make him worry.

He’s such a sweet kid, and he’s picked up Grace’s habit of calling him ‘dad’, which is about enough to make Steve’s heart ache. Right now, he’s sitting on Steve’s knee, and he looks more content, babbling away about a book he’s been reading with Danny (which, by the way, it sounds terrifying, but Charlie seems to be enjoying it, so dad or not, Steve is happy to defer to his decision). The weather is warm, but there’s a perfect sea breeze tinged with salt which softens everything. Music piping out from the house. It’s enough to let Steve forget that he’s even sick, for a little while, asking Charlie silly questions that make him laugh.

Eating is a nightmare, though. Everyone has the good sense to ignore the fact that Steve hasn’t let a single solid pass his lips. He’s been drinking smoothies, which Danny brings out from time to time, but even that is hard to swallow. His voice is raspier than it was before the surgery, and that is a pretty high bar, in all fairness.

“What have they told you to expect, Steven?”

Steve gives Rachel a tight smile. “Well, they were pretty clear that not everyone reacts to chemo the same way. It’s hard on some, not so hard on others. I’ll probably lose my hair…”

“Well, that’s not a great loss,” Tani jokes.

“Easier than a buzz cut,” Junior adds, and Steve snorts, following that up with an almost sincere attempt to look annoyed at them.

“But for the rest? You know, tonight, I think I just want to focus on the fact that you’re all here with me. I know the next few weeks are gonna be hard, especially on Danny…”

Danny reaches out and squeezes his arm gently.

“But I know you’ll be here to help him out.”

It’s one of the hardest things Steve has ever had to say out loud because much as he’ll give anyone he cares about the shirt off his back he’s really not great at asking for help for himself, and asking for help for Danny is an extension of that. He knows full well that things like keeping food in the house, caring for Eddie, and — quite possibly — keeping Steve from sleeping in his own sweaty sick filth is going to be hell, and he hates that he has no control over that.

It’s hard not to feel like he’s being selfish when he knows that at least he won’t be doing it alone. There are not a lot of people who he would be willing to burden with this, but he knows Danny wouldn’t have it any other way.

By the time they’re finishing up the dessert Grace arranged, which is ice cream (obviously took some advice from Danny, although if this isn’t Frankie’s ice cream Steve will eat his dress blues), Steve’s struggling to keep his eyes open. Charlie is inside sleeping on the couch and Steve sort of wishes he could join him. But Danny seems to notice, pretty quickly, and he must do some kind of hand signal to the others, because Lou loudly says it’s getting late for an old man on a Sunday night, and Tani says something about needing to get home to take Eddie for a walk, and Rachel murmurs quietly to Grace, who looks very reluctant to leave.

It might be a little while before he sees some of them again.

The round of hugs at the front door are thorough but careful, and Steve pretends not to notice the tears in more than one person’s eyes. He hates this so much, being unable to comfort them.

And then they’re all gone, and Steve sits heavily on the arm of the couch.

“You doing okay babe?”

Danny runs his hand over Steve’s fuzzy head.

“I’m worried,” Steve says.

“I know. But remember what you said. The doc said that not everyone gets so sick from the chemo, you know. You might have an easier time of it, and I’m gonna be there, I’m here to look —”

“No, Danno. What if Kamekona is right? What if I really don’t have the head shape for the whole _chrome dome_ thing?”

Danny stares at him for several long seconds and then looks like he’s contemplating punching him in the face. “I hope you don’t. You’re annoyingly handsome. Taking you down a peg or two sounds like a plan. In fact, I hope you go cross-eyed. Come on. You need to get ready for bed. I’ll just tidy outside and then I’ll join you.”

“I can help,” Steve starts.

“No. No, you can’t, and you don’t need to. This is your training ground. Next few weeks are gonna be rough, alright, you’re going to need plenty of rest, and when I say I am going to do something, I’d rather start right away than have to argue with you about it for ten minutes. So I’d like you to go brush your teeth and climb into bed if that’s okay with you. And in a few minutes, I’ll be there, and I will be the big spoon. I love you. Go to bed.”

Steve climbs to his feet and kisses Danny on the forehead.

“Okay, Danno. I’ll see you soon.”

Steve isn’t sure whether Danny got much sleep; he knows he didn’t, despite the exhaustion. In the early morning light, despite the unfamiliar bedroom, Steve and Danny stare at each other across the unkempt pillows, fingers tangled. Danny looks as tired as Steve, lines of worry creasing his forehead. They kiss a little, aimlessly, and doze for long moments until there is no denying that they need to get up and face this.

 

 

By early afternoon, Steve is settled on the couch back at home and pretending to drink a smoothie. His neck is too sore and it hurts to swallow, anything but water, really. No, water hurts too, but at least it’s thin. Yes, he needs nutrition. He’s already aware he’s looking a little gaunt. But it _hurts_.

“You still feeling okay, babe?” Danny asks, sitting carefully beside him with microwaved leftovers from the party.

“Yeah, fine. Like you said. Not everyone gets sick from the chemo — guess I’m one of the lucky ones. Now, listen, I don’t often get to spend a whole day binge-watching Netflix, so can you pipe down? And get in here,” he adds, lifting his arm for Danny to snuggle in close, pretending his voice doesn’t sound thin, and reedy, and _sick_. “This is good, this one’s supposed to be scary. And if you keep your trap shut for a while I’ll let you pick a romantic comedy next.”

“Fuck you, pal.”

“No, it’ll be good, I’ll be able to get some sleep. What was the rom-com where the guy played midwife to an alien? That was sweet.”

“If you think I won’t punch a cancer patient, you’re very very wrong.”

Almost, sort of, in spite of everything, a nice day.

In retrospect — Steve thinks maybe he should have knocked on wood.

 

 

It’s probably close to midnight, and Steve’s probably been asleep for a couple of hours when he wakes up feeling… wrong. The sheets are damp beneath him, his stomach has seized up, and it feels very much like the world is ending.

Danny is moving before he’s even completely awake, his hands form on Steve’s lurching shoulders.

“You think you can make it to the bathroom?” he asks.

“Yeah,” Steve answers, or tries to; his voice sounds rough as gravel and barely squeezes itself past the pain in his throat. Danny helps him off the bed, powerful arm reaching around to support his weight. Steve thinks for a second that he’s going to send Lou and Tani and Junior flowers, because the thought of trying to navigate the stairs in this state is a horrible one, and he barely makes it to the bathroom as is, even with Danny’s powerful body propelling him along.

There’s a cushion on the floor, which suggests that while Danny hadn’t shared Steve’s optimism, he had at least planned ahead. Though the act of moving to a cooler space has calmed Steve’s stomach, at least temporarily — a relief, since he thinks throwing up the admittedly meager contents of his stomach will hurt his throat more than it’s worth.

The entire world has shrunk to his body. It feels like he’s dying. Until Danny puts a cold, wet cloth on the back of his neck, and he starts to feel right again, just a little bit. Enough to open his eyes and discover that instead of the bright overhead lights he knows would burn his eyes, there’s a soft glow from a lamp Danny must have installed for exactly this purpose. He blinks anyway, seeking out Danny’s face.

“Danny?”

“I’m right here, babe,” Danny says, carefully wiping the sweat from Steve’s face with another cloth. “You’re alright. You’re so much stronger than any of this.”

Steve hates hearing it. He doesn’t feel strong; in retrospect, he hasn’t felt strong in weeks and should have known sooner that he was sick. He just hadn’t wanted to. The promise he made Danny in the hospital all those months ago, to see his doctor regularly, and to check out any symptom — it feels like a whole different person made that promise.

He was so wrong. So, so fucking wrong; he could never have done this by himself. The momentary urge he’d had to call a hiatus on this relationship until he was better seems ridiculous, now. Steve’s skin is sore, and feels like it’s burning, too tight over his muscles and bones but he still needs to be touched.

Eventually, he does throw up. There’s so little in his stomach that it’s a non-event, except for the pain, but he feels marginally better afterward.

“You want me to draw a bath?” Danny asks. “Nice and cool? Would it help?”

“Maybe. No, not now. Maybe later. I just,” Steve says, and he tries to get to his feet again and fails. “I think I just need to sleep for a minute, just a minute.”

He hears Danny pad out of the bathroom, and return with more cushions. Good old Danny. Yeah, this is good. Steve lies against the cushions and falls asleep, temporarily, with the cold tile of the bath at his back, and Danny’s hand on his shoulder.

It’ll be alright. Soon, it’ll be better. Steve pictures the poisons in his body attacking the rapidly-dividing cells in his neck, fixing him, making him himself again, but it’s almost impossible not to imagine those same poisons attacking everything else.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm giving a blanket warning for the next little while, guys -- Steve has cancer, he's having chemotherapy, and that's not pleasant. I have no interest in describing the unpleasantness in any detail; to me, this is a story about Danny and Steve and right now it's about Danny helping Steve through a really rough time. So please don't think it's going to get graphically medical, and I'll keep things respectful. 
> 
> However, I know that many of you know someone who has been through chemo, or have lost someone to cancer -- I know I have. Please practice self-care if you need to. The next chapter involves mostly a flashback to a much happier time, to make this chapter a little easier to take.


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The ocean has all kinds of power.

**August 2018**

 

It’s four days before Steve is feeling better. four days of refusing to eat anything, just slowly sipping at electrolyte drinks until Danny is starting to think he’s going to have to take him back to the hospital just to make sure he doesn’t dehydrate. Danny has probably slept a total of eight hours, in the last four days, though thanks to the miracle of chronic insomnia, he’s not suffering from that as badly as he could be.

Steve is stretched out on the couch; he’d said he wanted to be able to see the ocean. He’s lying on a cool mat that Tani had brought around when Danny had begged the oncology helpline for advice on keeping Steve cool. And he is, blessedly, asleep.

He doesn’t smell great. This is something Danny had been aware of. When all of this is over, they’ll probably have to get rid of most of his clothes.

Steve twitches awake, and speaks quietly. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”

Danny follows Steve’s gaze out the window.

“It’s not bad, for a pineapple-infested hellhole,” he agrees, grinning. Worth the jab just to see Steve smile.

“I miss the ocean,” Steve admits.

“Rumor has it that she misses you, too, Super-SEAL.”

“I don’t feel so super right now, Danno.”

“Doesn’t mean you’re not, babe.” Danny leans to kiss his cheek, and then heads to the kitchen to make some lunch.

 

 

**October 2015**

 

In retrospect, it was probably a very grand gesture, that Steve had let Danny climb into his truck covered in mud, though because Steve was an absolute _asshole_ and he was the reason Danny was covered in mud, he wasn’t getting credit. Not at all. With no memory of having signed up for the stupid Tough Mudder competition and no great desire to do it — especially so soon after having _literally given bone marrow_ — Danny wasn’t feeling all that charitable, even after winning the aforementioned idiotic race and being half-carried to the truck by an almost-sorry looking Steve, who was, once again, responsible for his knee being the size of a pumpkin.

And yet.

“You’re grinning, Danno,” Steve said. “Can’t pretend you didn’t have fun.”

“I’m grinning because I watched you spit up a mouthful of mud, not because that was fun.” But it had been fun. It had been a lot of fun, and the deep, sweet ache in Danny’s body was testament to that fact. “I’m grinning because we beat the HFD and the HPD and those smarmy surf boys.”

“Even on your sore knee. We did good.”

“I’m also grinning because it’s gonna take you an entire week of hard labor to get the mud out of your truck, which will make me very happy.”

“Yeah, yeah, ease up,” Steve said, feigning annoyance and failing like a failure, eyes twinkling.

“It’s gonna hide in little nooks and crannies and you’re gonna be bothered by it for months,” Danny said, pointing to the aforementioned nooks and crannies (with some effort, he could make sure every base was covered), “because even though I know you like my car better — which you should, by the way, because my car is _much much_ better — you _love_ this truck. It’s an extension of your overwrought masculinity.”

“Says the guy who drives a Camaro.”

“Who drives my Camaro? Who, Steven? Say that again?”

Their eyes had caught, and sparked, and the annoyance and exhaustion of the last few weeks gave way to something better, softer. Danny glanced at Steve’s hands, holding the steering wheel at ten and two like he wasn’t some kind of maniac, arms clean to the elbows. Up at his face, his eyes warm on Danny’s, far too intimate.

“I’m also grinning because I’m gonna have a shower in your house soon as contribute to the bathroom getting filthy.”

“Naw, Danny. We’re gonna clean up in the ocean. It’s better. Besides, the salt water is good for your knee.”

“Can you produce some scientific evidence for this assertion, because babe, I’ll tell you the truth, you sound like a cross between a Honolulu travel guide and a snake oil salesman.” Steve was right, though. About very little in life, but definitely about that. The ocean did seem to cure an awful lot, including (tell no one) Danny’s frequent foul moods.

“Fine, the ocean. But I’m stomping through your house first,” Danny said, as he got out of the truck. Steve, of course, had other ideas, steering Danny around the side of the house. Not to be too Pavlovian, but Danny had a tendency to melt just a little bit whenever Steve had both hands on him, and he didn’t even complain (loudly) as Steve guided him to the stretch of private beach.

Ever the exhibitionist, Steve was naked in seconds, strutting in that annoyingly attractive way he did (was it a Quarterback thing or a Navy thing, Danny had always wanted to know — because it was hard to imagine the Steve who had backed out of a talent show walking like that) into the ocean, his ass looking like it was sculpted from living marble.

… Steve _didn’t have a very noticeable tan line_. And something about the way he glanced over his shoulder at Danny before to dive under the water suggested that Danny was supposed to notice.

How, though? Had he taken to swimming out here naked? How had Danny failed to notice a couple of weeks back when he’d fucked Steve through the floorboards in the living room back there? — well, he’d been more than a little distracted, _but_.

Damn Steve. Damn his lack of a prominent tan line, damn his stupid handsome face, damn the way he was watching Danny right now, waiting to see if he’d strip nude and join him.

Why did Danny’s life have to be so fucking complicated.

As if he’d heard Danny’s thoughts, Steve grinned, treading water. Danny sincerely wished he didn’t have a semi, right then, but he was not going to back down from the adult equivalent of a double-dog dare (who the fuck was Danny kidding, Steve had actually double-dog-dared him more than once. More than once _that year_ ).

“You’re an asshole,” he said, pleasantly, and was rewarded with a lascivious grin, and a brief glimpse of Steve’s magnificent ass as he did a goddamn _mermaid flip_ and disappeared under the water again.

Danny had to admit, the water was nice. Just the right temperature and Danny was just a little bit sunburned, so it was soothing. And alright, maybe his knee did feel a little better, now it was buoyant, and compressed by the water, but that didn’t make Steve any less of an asshole. Danny got comfortable in the shallows and started to rinse off the drying mud before it got a chance to flake off and take all of his body hair with it. He dove beneath the water to rinse his hair, but it felt less like _rinsing_ than trying to scrub clay out of silk.

Like he’d planned for it, Steve settled in behind him, and Danny didn’t even have the energy to argue. He let Steve ease him lower in the water, head resting on Steve’s thigh (ignoring the optimistically half-hard dick that was bobbing just under the water) and let his eyes close while Steve washed his hair, as well as he could manage without shampoo.

“You know, for someone who didn’t want to be there and hurt his knee, you were pretty badass,” he said, his voice a quiet rumble.

“I didn’t hurt my knee. _You_ hurt my knee.”

“Need me to kiss it better?”

Danny opened his eyes to find Steve looking at him owlishly, his lower lip a little thick and his pupils too big for a day this bright. He caught his thumb on Danny’s lower lip, and Danny couldn’t help it, he bit the tip, before soothing it with his tongue.

Without a word, they glided into the deeper water, and Danny’s legs closed around Steve’s waist. They kissed hungrily, kissed like their lives depended on it, cradled by the sea, soothed by the salt and the breeze, their own little island. Danny scratched his nails down Steve’s back, and Steve shuddered, pulling him closer. Hard as nails, both of them, when Steve reached between their bodies and closed his hand around both of their cocks.

“Is this really enough for you?” Danny asked. “These… snatched moments?”

Steve buried his face in Danny’s throat and bit gently at his warm skin. “I don’t know,” he said, pulling away enough to hold Danny’s eyes. He looked regretful, maybe a little ashamed of himself, but resigned. “I know it’s what I can do, at the moment.”

Danny wondered at that. _At the moment_. Did that mean there was a future in this? That at some nebulous future date, Steve would be ready to take another step or two, that Danny could stop waiting with bated breath for the weeks or months it could be before Steve reached for him again, or he lost his tenuous grip on his own pathetic excuse for self-control and reached out first?

At least there was a shared understanding, there. That this would have to be enough for now. Their foreheads met, and the shared breath for a long moment.

“I wanna take you to bed,” Steve murmured. “I wanna fell you stretch me out, fill me up. Touch me everywhere.”

A stronger man than Danny might have said no, but Danny angled his face for another kiss and wrapped himself tighter around Steve.

And then, like the universe hated them both, their phones rang, in tandem, up on the pile of towels Steve had tossed onto one of the chairs.

“Guess it’s time for a proper shower, then,” Danny said.

“Yeah,” Steve replied, his voice heavy with regret. “This had better be a murder, or I’m calling foul.”

“You’re really not supposed to hope anyone’s been murdered, Steven, it’s rude and tacky and other adjectives I can’t think of.” And just like that, the spell was broken. It was sort of a relief.

 

 

As it turned out, it wasn’t a murder but a carjacking, which meant that Danny got to drive, and shout at Steve, while Steve hung half out the window and tried to shoot out the tires, which, by the way, “My god, Steven, were you actually in the Navy or did you get that sharp-shooting license in a lucky charms box — I swear I’m gonna drive into the ocean and drown you, _both of us_ , just to get some fucking **peace**!”

And there was no discussion about it, not after the extended interrogation and the resulting arrests of three overly ambitious drug dealers with less sense between them than Mr. Hoppy had in his entire bunny brain. No discussion when Danny climbed obediently into the passenger seat of his own damn car and said: “You want to get Indian?”

No discussion even when Steve slipped an arm around Danny’s shoulders in front of the television, which was playing something neither of them had any interest in. Nor when Steve got up to turn the lights off and check that the doors were locked, and the security system switched on. He just led Danny upstairs to the bedroom and picked up where they’d left off earlier, and Danny couldn’t bring himself to object. Not the way Steve panted his name, twisted around so Danny could fuck him from behind and hold eye contact at the same time.

“Touch yourself,” Danny said, holding his weight carefully to avoid hurting his knee while fucking relentlessly into Steve’s gloriously slick, tight hole. Steve closed his hand around his own cock, and Danny watched, balls slapping against Steve’s perineum until they both came in a terrible mess of sweat and come and the exhaustion of a long and complicated day.

They lay together for a long time, arms looped loosely around each other, lips barely touching though not exactly kissing. Steve’s hand ran possessively through Danny’s hair, clean and shiny if a little sweat-damp.

“Am I gonna wake up on my own, in the morning?” Danny asked. “You know, I… I think I can handle that. Guess I’d just like to know in advance if that’s okay with you.” Maybe it was pathetic, that Danny was willing to accept these scraps, but since it was what he got, for now at least, it was what he would take. And these moments seemed to make up for the rest. Steve knew how to touch him, how to goad him on, how to make Danny’s body come alive in a way that it hadn’t in years.

“I hope not,” Steve replied, and Danny believed him.

 

 

He might have woken up alone if their phones hadn’t started chirping obnoxiously at the same time a hair after four in the morning. Without speaking, they headed off for separate showers. Steve found Danny some clothes he’d left behind the week before which had since been laundered, and they headed in to work.

 

 

The following weekend, Danny had a surf lesson with Kono. He didn’t really need lessons anymore, but this had become a tradition, their moment to talk or complain or whatever they needed. But the surf was dead, so after a little time paddling around, Danny intermittently complaining that getting sand in his shorts required a better payoff than this, they called it a day and headed off to get some lunch.

“You gonna tell me what’s on your mind?”

“I still have sand in my shorts. That’s the main thing.”

“I’ll rephrase,” she said and took a swig from her bottle. “What’s going on with you and the bossman?”

Danny stabbed aimlessly at his shrimp.

“Spill.”

“I don’t know,” Danny said.

“Are you sleeping with him?”

Kono the blunt instrument.

“Sometimes.”

“And?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know what to tell you, Kono. It’s a thing, and it gets… almost good, and then he’s gone, he’s dating a twenty-five year old in a string bikini for five minutes and then he acts like nothing happened.”

They were quiet a little while, looking out over the water, which was still barely rocking the paddle-boarders. Perfect weather for kids. If only Charlie was well enough, yet.

“I mean, do I want more? Yeah, I want more, but it’s not like I’ve got an inordinate amount of time on my hands or a string of people lining up to make time with me. I want more, but I’m busy, you know, I’m not sitting pining by the phone or making a creepy wedding scrapbook just in case. I have a son to get to know, a daughter to raise, and quite separately from the _Steve_ I sometimes fall into bed with, I have a _partner_ to keep alive. Which as you know is a full-time job all by itself.”

“Does _he_ want more?”

Was it fair to even answer that, for Steve?

“Yeah,” Danny said. “But that big oaf doesn’t know how to get out of his own way. It’s alright, Kono. It’ll work itself out, or it won’t.”

She reached across the table to squeeze his arm and ordered another round of beers.

 

 

**August 2018**

 

The day before Steve is due for his second round of chemo is the best day he’s had all week, which seems cruel. But it does mean they can enjoy some lunch together on the lanai. Danny has a dish of pasta, one of the meals Kamekona had brought around to stick in the fridge so Danny wouldn't starve. Steve can only manage scrambled eggs and mashed potatoes. It hurts him and Danny can see it but what little fat he’s ever carried on his rangy frame is melting away at an alarming rate. There’s plenty of olive oil in there, too, and some cheese. Anything soft enough to swallow.

And Steve is making such an effort it breaks Danny’s heart.

“You know, we could sell this at the restaurant,” he says, pointing his fork at it, pretending he hasn’t mostly been pushing it around the bowl.

“No, we couldn’t Steve. It’s disgusting, it’s baby food.”

“It tastes good, though. Are these eggs free range? And the cheese, too, you know, some fat, some dairy. Cures what ails you.”

No. No, it really doesn’t.

When Steve has finished all it seems he can, and he’s given Danny an apologetic smile, Danny takes his hand, and gives it a squeeze. He grabs the industrial-sized bottle of sunscreen that always sits by the table, and he instructs Steve to take off his shirt.

“I’m alright here, Danny, we’re in the shade.”

“Yeah, maybe,” Danny says, working the sunscreen gently into Steve’s arms. Never mind the deep tan; Danny’s been warned that the chemo might make Steve more prone to burning, and Steve is not getting a melanoma on Danny’s watch, no way. “But you’re not getting better in the shade, Steve. You’re a damn mermaid, and you’re drying out. What happens if you don’t absorb enough salt water through your gills? Huh? Do you desiccate? If I find a Steven-shaped husk in bed one morning, I’ll vacuum it up, as soon as I stop screaming, and I’ll keep your house.”

“Your bedside manner is really something.”

“I know,” Danny says, and he leans in for a warm kiss. Open-mouthed, the barest touch of tongues. Brief, but so important. It’s too easy to forget that there is more to this than a man looking after his partner; it’s Danny and Steve, Steve and Danno, and they’re in love, and they’re getting married as soon as this nightmare is over. And they need to kiss, and they need to touch because it’s what they do. Just because Steve’s skin is sore doesn’t mean he doesn’t need that.

“Come on, SuperSEAL,” Danny says, settling Steve’s ridiculously ugly fishing hat on his head. He helps him to his feet and wraps an arm around his waist.

They spend almost half an hour sitting in the shallows, soaking up the ocean, and Steve looks more peaceful than he has in a couple of weeks. Peaceful and beautiful, despite the dark shadows under his eyes and the swelling on his neck. With his shoulder pressed to Danny’s, looking out at the beauty of the ocean he grew up in, Steve heals, just a fraction.

 

 


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things take a turn for the worse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you need any cancer-related content warnings, please read the end notes.

**September 2018**

 

Steve can feel Danny’s hand on his shoulder. He’s gentle, he’s always so damn gentle, but it does stop it all from hurting. He closes his eyes tighter, and tries to burrow under the blankets, but dipping his head hurts his neck.

“Babe,” Danny says, quietly. “Babe, I’m sorry, but we have to go.”

This room stinks. It always stinks. Chemo makes everything stink, his body, his clothes, the bed — Danny needs to burn this mattress and all the bedding, as soon as possible.

“I can’t,” he says, quietly.

Danny is silent for a while. Probably longer than he should be, since Steve dozes off again. It’s all he can do, at the moment. Sleep. Sleep, and stink.

“It’s up to you,” Danny says, at last. “You can stop, we can take our chances. If you can’t do it you can’t do it, babe, I don’t even know what you’re going through right now. But if you stop, get strong, you might need to start again. Unless you’ve decided you don’t. Uh.”

Steve can hear the words Danny doesn’t say. Unless he’s decided to stop fighting.

Sometimes, he really wants to. He can picture it. Recover from the liters of poison they’ve pumped into his body, and enjoy a few good months surrounded by his family. And then drift off to sleep one night in Danny’s arms, and never wake up. He can imagine that being peaceful.

But that’s not the end of it, because he sees what would come after. Danny’s grief, the kids, the ohana — he can see the way losing him would create a ripple effect they’d take a long time to come back from, and one Danny might _never_ come back from. He doesn’t have Matty to sit with him every night and keep him off the ledge, not this time. And that’s too much for Charlie and Grace to be responsible for.

“No,” Steve says. “It’s okay, Danny. I can do it. Just one more, right?”

And he has to hope it’s only one more because with everything he’s ever been through, in Steve’s entire life, there’s been nothing this difficult. He tries to sit up, and he fails.

“I’ll be back,” Danny says, and he lets his fingers trail gently over Steve’s bald head. It’s one of the only places his skin doesn’t hurt.

 

 

When Steve wakes up a while later, his regular oncology nurse Geraint is fussing by the bed. Big, strong guy. Steve likes him. He washed out of the Marines his first tour after taking shrapnel close to his spine. Retrained as a nurse after his rehab finished up. He reminds Steve of Junior.

“Lazy bones,” Geraint says to him, with a smile. “Can’t be bothered to show up at hospital for your appointments, now? Gotta lie in bed like some kine celebrity?”

“That’s me,” Steve says. “Where’s Danny?”

“He’ll be back. What you think about getting your spa treatment here, just this once? Pulled a few strings, you know; lots of places around the mainland are doing chemo at people’s houses, these days. I can set you up after with fluids, see if we can’t keep you healthy. Or healthier. Now, my friend, I think you could use a sponge bath and some fresh sheets, you think we can manage that?”

It’s humiliating. Steve hates it. But he hates feeling this revolting more, so he nods gratefully, and hopes that one day he’ll be able to look back on all of this and laugh. It seems unlikely, but so much does.

After, it’s mostly a day like any other; Geraint makes himself scarce except to change the fluid IVs from time to time and when Steve has been conscious for a half hour or so, to help him swallow a couple of capsules of cannabis oil. Supposed to help his appetite, his pain, his sleeplessness. On a good day it does one out of three. On a really good day, two. Today, it’s doing nothing.

Under Danny’s watchful eye Steve drinks two disgustingly sweet smoothies, knowing full well they’re going to be a lot less pleasant coming back up in a few hours. They watch television, or Danny does, while Steve dozes on and off and dreams about poison in his body.

 

 

It’s genuinely horrifying when he wakes in the back of an ambulance with Danny holding his hand. Maybe this is it, maybe it’s all over. He tells Danny he loves him, in case it’s the last time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter-specific warnings: Steve's health is declining in this and the next chapter. It may be a difficult read. I have based this part of his illness on the experiences of a family friend two years ago -- he very graciously shared his recollections with me at Christmas, as did his very lovely wife. 
> 
> For those of you who are still feeling anxious about this, I promise you I will remain true to my existing warnings, and things will be improving by the end of the next chapter.


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yes, it looks dire... but at some point, the universe has to remember that Steven McGarrett is as stubborn as a mule.   
> Now seems like a good time.

**October 2018**

 

Honestly, the next person who tells Danny that Steve is strong is getting beaten to death with whatever is on hand. He knows. He _knows_ , and he can’t listen to it any more, because there comes a point where it doesn’t fucking matter how strong a person is. Steve has spent the last six weeks getting pumped full of poison in an effort to stop the rapidly dividing cells which so far are confined to his neck but may not always be. His skin hurts. He’s lost all his hair, his eyebrows, his beautiful long eyelashes, the hair on his body. And for the last week he’s been in isolation, where Danny can’t even touch him. Danny sits on a stool outside the window of his room as much of the time as he can get away with. He only goes home to shower and get a little sleep when bodily dragged to someone’s car, and when Grace came to visit two days ago after school all he could do was cry into her shoulder, like a goddamn shitty father.

“He’s strong, Danno.”

“Yeah, monkey. I know.”

It’s really a good thing it’s Grace that says it. He could never hurt her.

 

 

Day eight, Steve wakes up. By himself. Danny isn’t allowed in to see him, but they hold each other’s eyes through the window in the isolation room and Danny smiles for the first time in so long that it hurts his face.

“He doesn’t have any kind of immune system right now,” the doctor says. “So I’m afraid I can’t let you in there today. But if he’s doing a little better tomorrow, we’ll suit you up and you can sit with him for a while.”

“And that’s definitely safe?”

“We know what we’re doing. Detective Williams —”

“Danny.”

“He’s not out of the woods yet. His organs are compromised, and we’re having a lot of trouble getting his infections under control.”

“And what, what else. Is the cancer gone, is what I want to know. Because if this, if all of this, was for nothing, I’m never gonna convince him that he should try again, do you understand?”

“I understand,” she says, as Steve’s eyes drift shut and his breathing slows again.

“See, I don’t think you do. Because the day he got radiation poisoning, he saved my life, and it wasn’t the first time, and in fact if you can believe it it wasn’t even the last. And I love him. He put this ring on my finger and asked me to marry him and my kids call him dad, and there is no way I’m gonna… bury him. Not now. We only really got a few months.”

She nods. “Let’s not count our chickens, Danny. One thing at a time.”

So it is that the next day, in clean scrubs and sterile gloves and wearing a surgical cap and mask, Danny spends a glorious half-hour by Steve’s bedside, talking to him about everything that comes to mind, since Steve is struggling to talk. He looks better. Not just in a not-dying way; the swelling around his face and neck are noticeably less, and his skin looks softer, less dry and flaky. He grips Danny’s hand with more strength than Danny had anticipated. He asks after his people, one at a time; Grace, and then Charlie, Tani and Junior, Kamekona and Frankie (but not the restaurant, which feels like a very distant memory at the moment), Lou and Rachel and even Eddie. He asks Danny more than once if he’s okay. Probably because he can tell that each time Danny says he is, he’s lying.

“I promise, babe, seeing you awake right now means I’m the best I’ve been in days, okay, that’s all I need. I love you very much. So don’t focus on me; I need you to focus on growing your hair back, because Kamekona is right, your head is all kinds of goofy. You got lumps and all kinds. I might have to bring you some hats.”

Steve flips him the bird, weakly, but definitively, and Danny wants nothing more than to climb up there on the bed with him, hold him, kiss him just once.

They’re quiet, for a while, and Steve looks to be about to nod off.

“Cancer?” he asks as if he’d forgotten why he is in hospital.

Danny shakes his head. “We don’t know, yet. Your white blood cells are way up, but you’ve got an infection, so they say it doesn’t mean very much. As soon as you’re well enough for scans, they’ll be able to tell us something.”

Steve nods, looking momentarily defeated, and then he falls asleep, letting go of Danny’s hand just as Danny tries to tell him one more time how very much he loves him.

The next day, he doesn’t open his eyes.

Nor the day after that.

 

 

It’s not until Danny pulls up outside Rachel’s house that he realizes that’s where he’s been heading. Despite the driving in circles, seemingly aimlessly, he was always going to end up here. And yet, once he cuts the engine, not even close enough to the gate to hit the button on the intercom, he doesn’t do anything. He sits. He stares out the windscreen blindly. Doesn’t even have time to think unkind thoughts about Rachel and Stan’s McMansion, and how salmon isn’t a color, and how this place looks like it was transplanted directly from Phoenix — not that he’s ever been to Phoenix, but he’s watched a lot of television in his time — and looks stupid, in Hawaii.

He’s so lost in his thoughts that he doesn’t hear the quiet squeak of the side gate, or see Rachel at all until she’s rapping on his window.

“Daniel? Are you alright?”

Danny meets her eyes, miserable.

“Well, that was a very foolish question,” she scolds herself. “Come on. I’ll buzz you in.”

“No, it’s alright. I don’t know why I came.”

“My guess is you were hoping to kiss your sleeping son on the cheek and help me make a dint in Stanley’s wine cellar.”

Actually, yes. “No. I should go.”

“Come on, Daniel,” Rachel says, hitting the button on the remote control she has concealed in her hand. “It will be therapeutic for both of us.”

Danny sits by Charlie’s bed for a good twenty minutes, watching him breathe, watching him _live_. Wondering what his life would be like right now if Charlie hadn’t made it past the age of three, the way they’d been warned he might not. There’s something soothing about it. Knowing it’s possible to beat the odds.

Charlie’s lips are a perfect cupid’s bow, and clutched between his arms is a mermaid doll Steve bought him a couple of years back. A green girl with blue hair and a less-than-menacing trident in her hand, her hairline decorated with improbably bright seashells. Danny hasn’t seen it in so long he’d assumed Charlie had grown out of it. But here it is, so worn that the sparkles seem to have mostly rubbed off her tail. Danny wipes his eyes, kisses Charlie on the cheek and wanders out to what Rachel always calls the parlor but is actually just a living room for fancy people. He kicks his shoes off for good measure.

Rachel pushes a glass into his hand as he drops onto an expensive-looking sofa. It smells like… _wine_. Alcohol. Probably someone with a more refined palate would say something like _hints of cassis and tobacco_ or some equally ridiculous crap but to Danny, in that particular moment, it smells like step one to obliterating himself and sleeping on the couch.

He’s on his second before Rachel says a word.

“What do you think of Grace attending University here in Hawaii?” she asks.

Danny stares at her incredulously. “That’s what you want to talk about right now?”

“Well, Daniel, your fiancé is lying in hospital with cancer and at risk of multiple organ failure. But since we can’t do anything about that, I thought you might appreciate a change in subject. Was I wrong?”

Danny stares for a long moment, and then drains his glass, shaking the empty at Rachel, who fills it as obligingly as she’d have filled his tea cup, if he was. You know. Being _sensible_.

“Do you want to talk about him?”

Danny shakes his head. “No. No, I don’t.”

“Then what do you think about Grace? I’d always thought she go somewhere further away, for University,” she says. “But Hilo is close enough to visit whenever we like, or whenever she likes.”

Danny’s head is swimming.

“I don’t think I really can do this right now,” he says.

“It’s a very competitive marine biology course,” she says. “One of the top ten in the country, and I don’t relish the idea of her going to Duke or Boston.”

“Rachel.”

“Please, Danny. I don’t know what to say. I broke your heart, I know I did, and I don’t know how to watch it be broken again any more than I know how to stop it from breaking. I want to tell you that he’s strong and he’ll pull through but I know as well as you do that it simply doesn’t work that way. And I know…”

She leans forward on the sofa, elbows on her knees, her wine glass dangling between her fingers.

“I know he made this sacrifice so our children wouldn’t risk losing their father, in exactly this way — and now I feel as if they might. Why did you let them start calling him _Dad_ , Danny?”

Danny wants to be angry, but in truth, if this is the end — he’s grateful the kids had Steve and they had him, even if it is not for as long as he would have liked. “It wasn’t my decision,” he says, calmly. “Grace made it for herself and then Charlie made it for _him_ self.”

Rachel reaches for the bottle and empties it into her glass.

“I know,” she says, kicking off a pair of shoes which probably cost a month of Danny’s salary, and drawing her feet up under her. Like she had in the days when they were first falling in love.

They’re silent for a long time, drinking, remembering things, probably remembering the same things just feet apart and unable or unwilling to express any of it.

“I don’t hate the idea of Grace staying close. I want her to see the world, I do, but it doesn’t have to be right away. There’s nothing wrong with wanting to be near her family. And the last few months she’s dropped the surly teenage snit and seems to really enjoy being around us again, so.”

Rachel nods slowly. She’s not built like the Williamses. She speaks politely to her mother once a month or so. She doesn’t have the same need to gather everyone close.

“I don’t want you to lose him,” she says. “Or the children.”

“I know,” Danny says, already slurring, and he reaches for the nearest cliché. “He’s strong. He’ll pull through.”

It’s right then he realizes platitudes are for the speaker, not the listener. It makes them a little easier to live with, somehow.

 

 

The week really doesn’t get a lot better. Danny almost punches a grief counselor, a priest, and a custodian who looks like he might be about to say something insensitive but is actually just pointing out that Danny has just walked away from his wallet and keys. Steve gets paler, weaker-looking, by the hour, and voices get more and more hushed. Danny stops sleeping. Maybe. He thinks he does, just lying on the couch unsure of whether his eyes are open or closed, his nightmares too similar to his daily miseries to be distinguished from his waking hours.

Worse, losing hours on an uncomfortable bucket seat which makes his back ache badly, radiating to his knee and making him wish ibuprofen was worth a damn thing.

He doesn’t like to leave, but from time to time, someone seems to lead him out the door to one car or another and takes him home for a few hours.

And Steve just _won’t fucking wake up_.

And then one night, after three, his phone rings. He can feel the ache in his throat start before he even answers it.

“Hello,” he says, preparing for the worst.

“Mr. Williams?”

“Yes.”

“Can you come to the hospital?” asks an unfamiliar female voice.

Danny scrubs his hand over his face. “What does that mean. Does that mean it’s time?”

“No,” is the reply. “It means he’s awake, and he’s asking for you. Responding to the antibiotics. Blood pressure and heart rate beginning to normalize. Drive safely, please. We’ll see you soon.”

Danny doesn’t let himself believe it, not until he’s being led into the clean room in scrubs and a surgical mask again, lunch-lady hair net over his unkempt (and frankly filthy) hair and Steve opens his eyes and smiles.

“Hey, Danno,” he says, reaching out.

“Hey, malingering swine,” Danny answers, his eyes crinkling as he takes Steve’s hand. “I hear you’re feeling better.”

Steve nods. “I don’t need to know how long it’s been. Not yet.” Danny sits on the edge of his bed. Maybe it’s just a rare moment of optimism, but he’d swear Steve actually looks better than he had a few hours ago, but then his face had been so still.

“I’ve done some thinking,” Steve says.

“Yeah, what’s that?”

“Think I’m gonna pull through.” Steve squeezes Danny’s hand. “You know, we’ve got a wedding to plan, and I think I’d like to grow my hair back for it, what do you say?”

“I say yes,” Danny promises. “You do that.” And he knows, he really does know that he’s supposed to be strong, right now. He’s supposed to be strong, strong for Steve, but he feels tears burn his eyes. “Promise me.”

“I promise, Danny,” Steve says. “I think I’m gonna get a little more sleep. Can you stay?”

They’ve been very specific about Danny not being allowed to stay for longer than ten minutes. But somehow, no one remembers to chase him out until almost five in the morning. By the time Danny is sitting on a bench outside the hospital in the cool morning sun, smelling the salt air, he’s convinced himself that one day soon this is going to be nothing but a distant dream.

 

 

By the end of the week, Steve is taking visitors, one at a time with the exception of Charlie (he comes in with Rachel); he’s nervous, teary, thinks Steve looks _wrong_ — and he does, of course, but when he smiles and takes Charlie’s hand Charlie calms down a little. He’s still sleeping most of the day and he’s being fed via drip and nasogastric tube, but there’s no one — not even a dire pessimist like Danny — who could argue he wasn’t significantly better. As the sun starts to disappear each night Danny says a lingering goodbye, carefully feeding ice chips into Steve’s mouth, one at a time, and pretending to bicker with him about flowers and cake.

Day by day, Steve gets stronger.

The smell of the chemo fades, a little at a time, and his inflamed skin begins to soften. He grows a little fuzz on his head, enough for Danny to tease him about it. In typical McGarrett fashion, he asks for the nasogastric tube to be removed long before it’s really necessary and starts pestering everyone who comes by to bring him smoothies. His voice stays rough, but it doesn’t sound so painful.

Danny arrives home late one night to find Tani and Junior there, looking guilty.

“What are you doing?” he asks.

“Well,” Tani says, “we got Hirsch to clean your bedroom.”

“It was rank,” Junior says, solemnly. “Sir.”

“Let me get this — you hired a _crime scene cleaner_  for my _bedroom_?”

“We felt it was warranted,” Tani says, gesturing vaguely. And actually, Danny’s not sure he’s up to arguing about it. “But Hirsch said he couldn’t do anything about the mattress. So we bought a new one —”

“Guys,” Danny says.

“Everyone chipped in — but it arrived three hours later than it was supposed to, so…”

Danny pushes the bedroom door open. The bed is half-made, the shiny new mattress almost glowing. The room smells better than it has in weeks. Danny feels a painful swell in his chest, and a burning in his eyes, and he turns to Tani and Junior. Junior has his arm protectively slung across Tani’s back, settling on her shoulder.

“I couldn’t have gotten through the last few weeks without you two,” Danny says, carefully. “What you’ve done for Steve and me, there aren’t words. Junior — I never wanna hear you call me ‘sir’ again, you hear me? Come on, you’re family.”

He doesn’t bother to pretend he’s not crying as he embraces them both. Fuck, he hadn’t realized how badly he needed to be held; Steve is still uncomfortable with touch, though he likes to hold Danny’s hand, awake or asleep.

“He’s really doing better?” Tani asks Danny’s shoulder. “He’s really going to pull through?”

“He’s really going to pull through. It’s almost like you forget how goddamn stubborn and hard-headed he is.” Danny pulls away, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “If you can believe this, he bitched at me tonight about bringing him a kale smoothie. Wants to know how he’s supposed to gain any weight while I’m starving him on rabbit food.”

“Well, tomorrow I’ll bring him something with ice cream in it,” Tani says.

“Alright, that’s a good plan. He’s still Steve, though, so maybe you should tell him it’s made from frozen yogurt if he asks. Come on,” he says, waving in the direction of the kitchen. “Pretty sure there’s a heap of restaurant food in the fridge. It keeps getting mysteriously delivered. This place is about as secure as grand central station. I told Steve he shouldn’t use my birthday as a security code.”

It’s a good dinner, with laughter, and with Eddie curled up on Danny’s feet like he knows the world is going to right itself again.

 

 

Danny stares blankly at the scan up on the doctor’s computer screen. It looks like… no, it really doesn’t look like anything, and he doesn’t know even _where_ he’s supposed to be looking.

“Is that the tumor?” he asks, pointing.

“No,” the oncologist says. “That’s the half of the thyroid we were able to preserve.”

“So,” Steve says, looking worried. His head looks funny, all fuzzy, but they say it will start to grow properly soon.

“This is what we call a complete response,” she says, bringing up another scan. “This was what we had to leave behind after your surgery. It’s gone, completely gone. So no radiation therapy. No more chemo.”

“I’m cured?”

“I’m afraid that’s not language we use when it comes to cancer,” she says, gently. “Especially in a case like yours. Ongoing monitoring for the rest of your life, but we’ll try to be as unobtrusive as possible. For the next few months we’ll be doing regular blood tests, and periodic scans, decreasing in frequency over the next five years if all goes well. What we _can_ say, for now, is that you appear to be in remission.”

It sounds like some kind of beautiful lie. Danny holds Steve’s hand, waiting for the bad news.

“If you’re feeling well enough, I’m ready to discharge you,” the doctor says. “You’ve got a lot of healing to do, but you’re less likely to pick up another opportunistic infection at home, and there’s no good reason you can’t recuperate there. A community nurse will come by every day.”

“Wait, wait. That’s it? There’s no… I mean, the _bad news_ , doc, what’s the bad news?” Danny asks. Can’t help himself.

“The bad news? Honestly — it’s going to take you a long while to be feeling better, Steve. If you think you’re going to start running eight miles a day and swimming to the big island and back before breakfast _any time this year_ , you have another think coming. And you’re definitely not ready to work. You need to keep things slow and easy, let your body heal. Convalescence isn’t your cup of tea, I know, but you have to remember, we brought you back from the brink of multiple organ failure. Staying healthy, getting stronger — those are your jobs, for now. I’m writing you a referral to a dietitian, so you can start to gain some weight back and a physical therapist so you can start to build your fitness up. Danny — see that he does as he’s told, will you? Nothing more, nothing less.”

“Aye aye, captain,” Danny says, and he shoots Steve a grin. “You hear that? I’m the boss of you.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Steve says, with a fake, put-upon, exaggerated sigh.

“And you’re going to burn fast, too, so slather on that sunscreen before you go outside. The last thing you can afford is a melanoma. Congratulations, Steve. Danny. I’ll send someone in with your paperwork.”

They sit for a long time after she’s gone.

“So that’s it?” Steve asks Danny, in wonder. “I’m better?”

“No,” Danny says. “That’s what they call selective hearing, babe. You’re not better, you’re just _better_. You’ve got recovering to do. Slowly.” Danny needs to look at their finances, figure stuff out, and… shit, no, he’s not looking for the downside, here, not here, not now. “Now, the good news is, I’ve added a lot — a _lot_ — of really interesting-looking TV shows to our Netflix list. And the house is nice and clean because everyone we love is amazing. Also, it’s Halloween in a couple of days and Charlie has it in his head that he’s dressing up as you, his hero, so Grace took him shopping and bought him the cutest pair of cargo pants you’ve ever seen and then Rachel made him a tac vest. So that’ll be cute.”

“That’s gonna be the highlight of my year,” Steve says. “You think Grace will come over and watch scary movies with us?”

“I guess we’ll find out. Probably depends if she can find a Dolphin Trainer Annie outfit in glamazon size. We _might_ be in luck.”

“You gonna let me cop a feel while we’re sitting on the couch? Do the old yawn and stretch?”

“I should be mad you’re using your old Catherine moves on me, but since you’re convalescing — oh _boy_ , am I gonna let you cop a feel,” Danny says. “After the kids are asleep.”

He leans in for a warm, gentle kiss, and closes his eyes as Steve’s fingers tangle gently in his hair.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd like to add a quiet acknowledgment here; thank you to a family friend, J, who graciously shared his story with me at Christmas. This part of Steve's journey is loosely based on the experiences of J and his lovely wife C. Like Steve will be, J is quite well (and really doesn't regret tossing thirty old beer-brand t-shirts out once his chemo was over and he was smelling fresh as a daisy again). I did condense his story into a few weeks, because I know there are people following this story who are finding this tough to read.
> 
> The good news is; there are good times coming! The guys need a break, and a celebration, and we have a wedding to plan :D


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's time for things to get at least somewhat back to normal. Steve has _needs._

**January 2019**

 

“Okay, would you stop mother henning me?”

“I am not — okay, I _am_ mother henning you, but in my defense, you have a fluffy head, babe. Like a little baby chick.” Danny tucks a hand into Steve’s elbow and Steve pulls him in nearer.

These walks — they feel faintly ridiculous, to a man who has spent most of his life running at least a few miles a day. He can’t deny that he tires easily, though. He hates the walking stick, but it does make things easier. “When the cool change comes in, we should go for a swim. Not a — not, like, a super-SEAL swim, okay, I know that face, Danny. Just get out and paddle a little bit.”

“Alright. I’ll see if I can borrow Charlie’s water wings.”

“You’re hilarious.”

“Thank you. I like to think so too.”

Steve hasn’t spent so little time outside in his entire life, and every day they spend a little more time outside, and he feels a little more like himself. A little hollow; he’s lost weight, no surprise when he hasn’t been able to keep anything down for weeks, but he’s lost muscle, too, and he’s determined to push himself.

He pauses for a moment, and tips his face up to the sun.

“You like that?” Danny asks. “You feeling good today? You look good. You always look good.”

They both know that’s not true. His skin is only just getting back to its normal texture and his hair is still fuzzy. His eyes are bloodshot and he still sleeps about 12 hours a day (while poor Danny still rarely gets more than 4). But the face in the mirror is more familiar this week than it was last week, and it was more familiar last week than it was the week before.

“We should get a shave ice. Or, no, an ice cream.” Steve gives Danny a grin like he’s announced a plot to steal the cookie jar and blame the dog.

Danny cocks his head, and shrugs.

“It’s medicinal. You gotta keep your strength up, and I’m the moral support. Right?”

“Right.”

Steve orders the piña colada, Danny orders vanilla. They sit at a park bench with a view of the beach. Kids running around. It’s warm for December. Unlikely to be a white Christmas, he’s pretty sure.

“We need to start doing things again,” Steve says, and licks melted ice cream off his hand.

“What sort of things?”

Steve doesn’t answer. The breeze picks up. The scent of the sea has always made him happy. He sits with his ice cream and the love of his life, and he looks out over the water, and he wonders what the rest of his life might hold, what he wants it to hold.

“I think it’s hilarious that you like vanilla ice cream.”

“Ah,” Danny says. “I can eat vanilla ice cream cheerfully, because I have nothing to prove.”

“You can’t do anything cheerfully.”

“Shut up. People who like vanilla but order chocolate are projecting, babe. They think chocolate is all sinful. People think vanilla, they think boring. Sex in the missionary position with the lights off.”

“Oh, this should be good.”

“I, or _we_ , know that I am in no way a missionary position with the lights off kind of guy, because you are too damn beautiful not to look at. I am the Energizer bunny. I am the Kamasutra of man on man. I like vanilla, I think it tastes very nice. And I have nothing to prove.”

Steve snickers and shakes his head. “You think too much, Danny.”

“Says the man who prefers action.” But Danny gives him a wide smile, and moves a little closer. The last several months have been hard on him. He’s been a trooper. Ten years ago Steve would have said there was no one in his life who he would have been able to call on to help him through something like this, and now?

He drapes his arm over Danny’s shoulder, and focusses on his ice cream. It’s nice being able to taste things again.

“We haven’t had sex since the night before I went to the hospital,” Steve says, quietly.

“Well, we’ve been busy. Cancer and stuff. And finishing the extension. Is the carpet guy coming this week?”

Steve nods. “Yeah. Nahele can move in on the weekend, if he’s ready. Poor kid has to be sick of couch-surfing. Now, about this sex thing.”

“Sex thing?”

“I miss it. I miss you. There have been times in my life when I’ve gone without sex for an implausible length of time, and I’ve been fine with it. But I love you, we live together, I wake up every morning with a raging hard-on and you’re still treating me like I’m fragile. I’m better, Danny. I’m healthy, for now. Cancer could come back anywhere, anytime, and while I’m well I want to live the life I earned.”

Danny crunches thoughtfully on his waffle cone. He has steadfastly refused to discuss the possibility of relapse. It makes a nice change from obsessing about it. “You’ve been giving this a lot of thought.”

“Yeah, and I’m usually a man of action. You weren’t helping with your Energizer Kamasutra bunny shit. So?”

Danny wipes is fingers on the napkin. “Deal. All the sex you can handle. It hasn’t been a cakewalk for me, either. You know how many men still look sexy when they’re puking up their entire body mass four days a week?”

Steve raises an eyebrow. Danny’s such a goddamn liar.

“So that’s it? Your big pronouncement that we need to start doing things again begins and ends with wanting to get your hands on my bare ass?”

“No.” Steve’s voice sounds a little rough. Unsure? He doesn’t feel unsure, just determined. “I wanna get married. _Soon_. I’m ready to do it, and I wanna just _do_ it. Whole nine yards. Decorate the back yard, get a band, invite everyone we love. I don’t know how long that would take to organize, but I think we should do it as soon as we can.”

“Okay,” Danny says. “You know, we did agree there was no rush.”

“No, _you_ said there was no rush. And you said it while we were staring down the barrel of months of chemo. I asked you to marry me for a reason, Danno. I want to be married to you. I wanna say _I’m Steve McGarrett and this is my husband Danny Williams_. You know?”

Danny nods. “Yeah. I know. Alright. Few weeks to get organized and we’ll do it. Can’t wait, babe. We doing the traditional tux thing where you look like James Bond and I look like a waiter? Or board shorts on the beach?”

“Meet you in the middle. Jeans and button-ups. On the beach. And slippahs.”

“Oy vey. We’re so hip. So, you wanna be sexed up, and you wanna get married — anything else?”

“Yeah,” Steve says, chewing the last of his cone and swallowing. This, he’s definitely nervous about. “The restaurant.”

“You wanna sell it.”

Steve has been battling this for months. Since the first time they ate there after he was well enough to go out. He watched Frankie and Kamekona race around the kitchen, and the new manager run off her feet on the floor. The restaurant is a success. It’s been incredible. But it feels so distant, now. Steve has had no part in that success, and he’s happy for the team, but it doesn’t feel earned.

And he knows his body can’t take 12-hour working days.

“I do,” he says. “I’m sorry, Danny. It’s your dream, but I… I’m not sure it’s how I want to spend my days, and I —”

“Okay, we’ll sell it.”

“— don’t think I can work those kinds of hours, not any—… what?”

Danny nods.

“Frankie, Kono, and Chelsea, the manager — just before Christmas they asked if we’d think about selling the place to them. They’re kicking some serious ass, babe. It’s impressive. They work well together, they’ve got a great product, thanks to my culinary genius in the beginning, of course… I didn’t say yes. I said I’d talk to you about it when the time was right. The offer’s a good one. We’ll get back everything we invested and more. Enough to put some away in case of, you know. Or we can leave it another year and let them invest back, and then come out even better. What I’m saying is we have options, okay, we can make a rational decision here. I know you don’t like those, but they are sometimes a good idea.”

“Your dream, though, Danny.”

Danny is quiet for a while. Steve can hear the cogs in his mind working overtime.

“When I was a kid, Uncle Vito… you know he owned a pizzeria. Once a week when I was a kid, usually Sunday, we’d all go over there as a family and have a big meal — we knew everyone by name, they knew us… the music was always loud, Vito would be yelling across the kitchen, something about the Jets, probably, or the best buffalo mozzarella in Italy. I loved it. When I got older I used to take my homework there sometimes and get a slice after school, just to smell those smells, and listen to — actually, a lot of the time it was Vito sexually harassing the waitresses. In a very respectful old Italian way, of course. Jesus, he wouldn’t be doing so good in 2019. Well, anyway.”

He crosses his arms, but that doesn’t stop him from speaking with his hands, somehow. One hand flaps against his bicep.

“And it was Jersey, you know, it’s 80 degrees in the height of summer, and it’s freezing cold in the winter, and it rains, and — and inside that restaurant it was always warm. And I don’t just mean the temperature.”

“You like miserable cities.”

“Would you please listen to me for five seconds, for once in your life. And getting the place together, I loved that. Working with you, even though you’re an unreasonable prick who doesn’t understand how keys work. Choosing the menu. But I go in there and it’s not what I pictured when I was dreaming my dream.”

After a long silence, Steve says, “Okay. Okay, then let’s sell it. What do you want to, do you want to go back to getting shot at?”

“No.” Danny shakes his head. “You’re on borrowed time, my friend, and you can’t do all your Super Seal bullshit anymore. So we’re gonna not get shot at anymore, if that’s still okay with you.”

Steve smiles, and turns to kiss Danny’s temple.

“Okay, Danny. We don’t have to decide right now,” he says. “I just wanna know that whatever we do, we do together. We should go. We had a good walk, though, right? I need a nap.”

“Yes, you do, babe. Toddlers, grandmothers, and my Super Seal.” Danny links his arm in Steve’s again as they rise from the bench, and arm in arm they head slowly for the car.

 

 

It’s later that night that somehow things get a little strange. Nervous anticipation, Steve thinks. For a while there the chemo had made his skin hurt so badly he couldn’t bear to be touched at all, let alone held. Over the last few weeks they’ve slowly been settling back into their old patterns of affection; curling up together on the couch, spooning at night, Danny hanging his arm off Steve’s elbow when they walk, the kind of unconscious touches made a thousand times a day when you’re sharing space with someone you love; Danny’s fingers trailing across Steve’s back as he walks past,Steve kissing the top of Danny’s head when he stays still for long enough, and he’s on hand. Kissing goodbye and hello and kissing because you’re passing by. Danny is an affectionate guy; it’s taken Steve longer than it should have to realize how much he’d been missing those casual touches.

But they’ve just talked about sex, and they haven’t gone there in so long that the concept is as frightening as it is exciting.

After dinner (Steve cooks mahi mahi on the grill, and Danny makes salad with grains; healthy, tasty, and all-around good stuff) they sack out on the couch to watch a little TV. Danny can’t settle on anything. Probably partly because they’ve pretty much cleaned Netflix out over the last few months, but mostly because he’s distracted.

“I mean,” he says, a propos of absolutely nothing, “what do you want? You want to fuck me, you want me to fuck you, you want to keep it simple and just stick to handjobs — I don’t want to —”

“If you say you don’t want to hurt me I’ll duct tape your mouth, and then there will be no kissing,” Steve says, snatching the remote. He doesn’t care what’s on. They’re not paying attention anyway. It’s background noise. “We’ve never planned like this before. We just let it happen.”

“You’ve never been recovering from cancer and chemo before, babe. We’ve been easing into everything else — we can ease into this slowly. You don’t know what you can take.”

“And you do? You know what usually happens, Danny? We start making out, we get hard, you get that look in your face that makes me dizzy… and we know what we wanna do. And then that’s what we do. It’s been working for us for this long, why mess with the formula?”

“But if —”

“If anything’s too much, I’ll tell you, and we can slow down or switch things up. I’m sorry, Danny. I love our life together. I adore it. I love every time you touch me and every time you kiss me. But we had an active sex life even before we were a couple and I miss it. Please don’t overthink it.”

“Oh, you gonna pick a safe word, here?”

“Yeah, how about ‘ _can we slow down or change positions_ ’? We don’t need to complicate this. You know one of the differences between you and Catherine?”

“Boobs. There’s a big one.”

Steve snorts, and Danny’s worried face softens a little.

“Well, yeah, that is definitely a difference. But it’s not…”

Steve is grateful he’s always been able to talk honestly with Danny, because this doesn’t come naturally to him. He rubs his hand over his fuzzy hair. Actually, it doesn’t feel as fuzzy anymore. Maybe it’s time to shave it again; maybe the real hair is starting to come through.

“You good to talk about this?”

“Yeah.” Steve closes his eyes and feels around for the right words. “There was always this expectation that things would go a certain way. Like a pattern. And I had to take the lead. And it was good, it was fine — I never had any complaints, you know, that relationship was what it was until I got the crazy idea to ask her to marry me.” He presses his thumb and forefinger against his eyes, and then turns to Danny.

“But you, you read me. You can feel when I need to change something up, like you read my skin with your hands, my muscles. And I can _talk to_ you, too. I don’t know, I always had this bullshit idea that it wasn’t okay to do that, you know, that you needed to just… _know_ somehow what to do next. But you never shut up, and you’re always checking in — so why would this be any different? I trust you, Danny, and I trust myself with you. That’s what it comes down to, you know? So I don’t need to plan this. I just need you in our bed not being so careful. And paying attention like the good partner you are. And having some fun. We have fun, don’t we?”

Danny looks faintly surprised, as if it’s never occurred to him that there is anything unusual about what he does. Maybe in a perfect world there wouldn’t be. He takes a moment to digest it, and then nods slightly.

“We have a lot of fun. Partly because you’re so bendy.” Danny smiles lecherously. “Pardon me for objectifying you. I’m not actually sorry, but pardon me anyway. You’re gorgeous, you know that? Inside and out. Come here.”

It’s easy to shift until they can kiss. Starts off gentle, like a pause between paragraphs, but Steve feels a surge of need he can’t ignore. He’s got his arms around Danny’s body, pulling him closer, parting his lips to deepen the kiss. The part of him that’s been worried he might have trouble getting hard is silenced fucking fast when Danny palms him through his sweats. Steve sucks air through his teeth and a moan somehow escapes the back of his throat.

“Looking good, babe,” Danny says, closing his hand over Steve’s dick, through the fabric, frustrating and arousing. “I say we take this somewhere a lot less clothed and a lot more comfortable, what do you think.”

They undress each other slowly, despite the sudden sense of urgency. Feels important to do that. Danny pulls Steve’s t-shirt over his head and lays him back. He mouths gently over Steve’s skin; warm, open-mouthed kisses, flicks of his tongue over Steve’s favorite erogenous zones, until Steve is shivering with need and trying to battle Danny’s shirt off as well. Danny has lost some weight, too, though no muscle; like the last few months have been even harder on him than the years preceding it. Steve splays his hand over Danny’s back, scratching fingernails gently over the skin and absorbing the warmth of his body.

When Danny takes Steve’s cock in his hand, Steve shivers like he’s been shocked, back arching so he can thrust into the touch. Jesus, it’s like being a teenager again.

“Tell me if it’s too much. I see you, Steven, I don’t want you to come in thirty seconds and this to be over, okay? You talked me into it, I plan to take my time, here. Fuck, I’ve missed this. Missed us like this. I wanna get my mouth on you, Steve. Can I?”

“Yeah. Yeah, Danny. Please.” The wait seems interminable, and then Steve feels Danny’s tongue flicker over the tip of his cock, and he moans again. Trying not to twitch because he’ll twitch _away_ , but his hips are rolling already and the long moments Danny takes to envelop him in that warm, wet, talented mouth are some of the best moments of the last several months. He’s careful, though, and Steve appreciates it, because he really could go off very prematurely. And it feels so fucking good. He gets his hand anchored in Danny’s hair, just gently, trying damn hard not to fuck up into his mouth, but that requires a lot of self-control.

“Danny,” Steve whispers, urgently. “Danny, I’m gonna… you need to stop.”

Danny pulls off slowly, and settles back on his haunches for a second or two.

“Almost forgot how good you look, all furiously turned on and gagging for it. Quite a sight, babe. You know what else I’ve missed?”

“Stuffing my mouth full of cock?” Steve asks, with a grin.

“Oh, yeah. Watch you stretch your mouth around me… but you gotta promise to tell me if it hurts your throat, babe,” he says, shuffling forward until he’s straddling Steve’s hips, towering over him.

Danny’s dick is like a replica of Danny himself. Not too long, but thick, a challenge to get his mouth around, always has been. But he does it, and drinks up the sound of Danny groaning above him.

Can’t play for long, because of Danny’s knee. But Steve’s body seems to have remembered what it’s doing, and it wants more. More skin, more kissing, more friction. He pulls off Danny’s dick with an obnoxious smack, and closes his hand around it, nuzzling for a moment before Danny gets off his knee and settles against his body again, cocks slotting together between their bodies and grinding furiously.

“Ah, fuck, Danny,” Steve groans, between kisses. “I didn’t even know how bad I missed this. Need this. Need you, Danny.”

“Where do you need me, though. Come on, babe, tell me, talk to me. I wanna make you feel so fucking good, okay? What do you want?”

In reply, Steve rolls them over until he has Danny pinned to the mattress, hands on his wrists.

“I wanna ride you. Can I ride you, Danny?”

“Fuck, yes,” Danny says, as Steve lets his wrists go. “Fuck, do you know what you do to me. Take those ridiculously long arms of yours and get me the lube. And a condom.”

Steve wants momentarily to balk at this — it’s been a long time since they were too concerned about body fluids, but then he remembers that he’s going to want to collapse in a heap after this instead of having to worry too much about clearing out an assload of spunk. He likes it bareback, Danny likes it bareback, but he grabs a condom anyway. He slicks his own fingers, and reaches back to start stretching himself open.

“What are you doing, babe, you need to turn around, okay? I need to watch this. I haven’t seen this in a long time. Shit, that looks good. You been playing with yourself in the shower again? Stretched right open for me. You enjoying that? Hit your prostate for me, babe, just a little, I wanna see that hole of yours clench over your fingers. Just like that. Fuck, Steve. Beautiful.”

Steve loves taking direction from Danny. And he loves it when Danny’s wearing nice slacks and a button-up shirt and a tie, talking to someone like a real live detective, and knowing this filthy mouth is just as much a part of him as anything else. Half-stumbling, Steve turns around again, eyes so dilated he can sort of _feel_ it, holding himself up over Danny’s body as Danny rolls a condom on. There. Enough, already, done, fuck. Steve’s vision blurs as he takes Danny’s dick in hand and eases himself down onto it.

Yeah.

 _Fuck_.

“Is that good? Is that how you want it? Little harder?” Danny asks, starting to roll his hips. Steve shakes his head.

“No, no harder, this is good. Is this good for you?”

“Yeah, babe. This is good. You were right. I’ve missed this too. I’ve got you here, my fiancé, my best friend, my partner, but I think I’ve been missing my lover, you know? You set the pace, here, okay, I’m just gonna lie here looking pretty if that’s alright with you.”

Steve throws his head back and laughs, because there’s nothing he loves like Danny being an absolute smartass in bed. This is good, this is more than good, feels like normality settling in again. When he looks down Danny is grinning as well. He’d almost forgotten the way they laugh in bed, Danny’s eyes and nose scrunching up and all the tension gone from his forehead, for the first time in a while.

It doesn’t last long, can’t, because they’re both over-sensitized and starving for it. Steve comes on Danny’s hand and stomach almost the moment Danny touches his cock, and then rides the waves of his slow, deep thrusts until he feels Danny tense up beneath him a few minutes later.

“Fuck,” he says.

Danny replies, in a very Danny way, “Indeed. _Fuck_.”

Once the lights are off and their teeth have been brushed and they’ve rinsed all the sweat and come from their bodies, they lie staring at the ceiling for a while riding the blissy wave of hormones and holding each other’s hands.

“You’re right, you know. I did miss it. Sex. I felt bad about that, because I don’t know, it’s not the most important thing, right? We’re bigger than that. But I missed it, I did. Everything. The way you look when you’re turned on. The smell of… everything, I don’t even know, it’s just that sex smell, you know? I don’t know.” He gestures at the ceiling. “There’s more than one way to be intimate. We both know that.”

“This happens to be one extremely fun way to be intimate,” Steve replies, and he rolls over, throwing his knee over Danny’s hips and tucking in to the crook of his arm. “Gotta work our way up to the honeymoon.”

“New Jersey would be a nice place to honeymoon, don’t you think?”

Steve snorts. Over his dead body.

 

 

So there’s one thing off Steve’s list. Number two? Get married.

 

 

Steve has executed complex extraction plans in enemy territory with multiple contingencies. Arrested terrorists from secure compounds in hidden corners of dangerous places. So he’s pretty confident he can plan a wedding at his own house. There’s two jobs right there, already done; book the wedding and reception venues — check.

“We can hire sails,” Grace is saying. “Anchor them to the upstairs lanai, and cover the tables. It’ll make the lights soft and you won’t have to worry about rain. We’ll rent a million fairy lights and add some ground lighting…”

Danny is making a list, pen in his right hand, sandwich in his left. “Uh-huh,” he says. “A sail, okay. You know where we can do that?”

“Mom and step-Stan did it a couple of years ago, I’ll ask her.”

Steve is tired and creaky and not really in the mood to talk about fairy lights, but Grace is so happy that he softens up pretty quickly. Not hungry, though, not even for this mouthwatering sandwich. He knows this is normal. Recovery is a process, etc, blah blah blah. Some days are going to be harder than others. He’s sitting on the back step and the sun is on his legs.

“You doing okay, Dad?”

Steve looks up at Grace and grins. “I love it when you call me that. I’m good, Grace-face. Just tired. I tire out easy these days. Worse than Charlie.” There. Mood repaired. Still creaky and tired, though. He makes a valiant attempt to get stuck into his sandwich.

“Are you gonna get Frankie and Kamekona to cater?”

“Yeah,” Danny says. “Steve? You good with that?”

Steve nods. “Yeah. Get them to order the booze, too.”

“What about the cake?”

“Big pile of malasadas,” Steve offers.

“Classy,” Danny says. “But it would probably taste better than the cake Rachel and I had. Does anyone actually like fruit cake? Because they’re wrong.”

“I’ll get some prices,” Grace says, making another note, and sounding very adult. “You can go and taste things. I saw it on 27 Dresses.”

“Gracie, you get your college applications in yet? Where didyou apply? I kind of lost track. I haven’t heard you talk about it in ages.”

She’s quiet, for a moment. “Yeah, I applied for a few.”

Dead silence.

Danny pokes her arm. “First choice?”

“HawaiiState University. Danno… you said it was my choice, and that you would be happy if I stayed, and I don’t want to leave my family behind. Especially not after… last year. I can explore the whole world when I’m older. I just want to know I can see you guys. And Will wants to stay too, and Lucy. We’ll have to hire plates and glasses — can Frankie do that?”

“Nice segue, Gracie,” Steve says, grinning, until Danny flaps a hand at him to shut up.

“Wait, Monkey, I know what I said. I was there when I said it. But you know you’ve got options, and I hope you thought through them all.”

“Yes, I did. I want to stay here. Now can we please talk about something more important? Like flowers?”

Steve can’t lie; he’s thrilled. He’d been looking forward to saying goodbye to Grace about as much as Danny has. And he likes to keep his people close.

The sliding door opens, and Nahele steps out side with a shy smile on his face.

“You all moved in?” Danny asks.

“Yes sir,” Nahele says, eyes twinkling. “I can’t thank you enough. Just for the next few months until I finish school, and then I can work full time and start looking for a place of my own. But this is so much better than couch-surfing. I can’t even tell you.” And he’d rejected the offer of their bedroom while they were sleeping downstairs.

There’s still a lot of kid in Nahele, which is honestly nice to see, considering what a mess his childhood was. He hasn’t lost the bright-eyed wonder Steve first saw when he decided not to arrest. Still can’t believe he has people in his life who care about him, and want to do things for him.

“Are you heading out?”

“Yeah, my shift starts in forty minutes. I’ll see you later. Bye, Grace.”

She gives him a smile and a wave in return.

“Now. Flowers.”

“Plumeria,” say Danny and Steve in unison.

It’s a little more work than planning a hostile entry into a foreign country, though Steve thinks more than once that it would probably go a lot smoother if he was allowed weapons. Maybe just a hand grenade to shake at someone from time to time. Mostly, he’s happy for Grace and Danny to do the work while he signs the checks, and they seem to be managing that pretty well. Besides, he still can’t get through the day without a two or three hour nap in the afternoon.

“You’ve gained weight, babe,” Danny says, one morning, ten days before the wedding. Steve turns to the full-length mirror, and turns for a side view.

“I have,” he agrees. “I think it’s your sandwiches.”

“You’re welcome.” Danny moves in close and angles his face up expectantly for a kiss. Steve obliges. It’s a good kiss. Suggestive. All this sex they’ve been having. Sex! Post-cancer, post-chemo, well-into-recovery sex. Maybe not as often as they did in the first few months, but often enough so their vibe is starting to feel right again. And Steve swears it’s helping him get better faster.

“One of those sandwiches every day and I might actually fill my tux out again.”

“Thought we were doing jeans.”

“Go get me a damn sandwich, Daniel,” Steve says, with his eyes and smile all crinkly.

“Fuck you, Steven,” Danny replies cheerfully.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry I've been derelict -- last couple of weeks I've been writing a bunch, so hopefully I'll be back on a more regular posting schedule soon.

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me at [fuckyoupbk](http://fuckyoupbk.tumblr.com). Come and say hi, if you're so inclined!


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